Dreams In Coach
by jago-ji
Summary: Sequel to "The Recliner" where Stephanie learned to fly and she and Ranger discovered love, though it was a bumpy journey. Dreams while sitting in a certain black recliner gave them glimpses into their future. In this SEQUEL, their love is still there, but a force conspires to separate them…permanently. Can their dreams (in flight) of a forever love help them survive and reunite?
1. Chapter 1

**DREAMS IN COACH**

Author's Note: Finally, the Sequel to _The Recliner_. This story skips around in time. I will post regularly. As always, the characters aren't mine, they are Janet Evanovich's. And she makes all the money; I'm just doing this pro bono.

**CHAPTER 1**

_Four months after Matteo Falcone met his Bella and was arrested, he was released from federal prison: _

The dark-complected man adjusted his Armani suit before walking confidently out of Interpol headquarters. He smiled to himself as he got into the back of a town car remembering the shocked, then disgusted look on Special Agent Taylor's face as she read the official orders to release her prized prisoner.

_Justice_ had prevailed again. The kind of justice only money…and fear…could buy. Over the past five decades, his family had cultivated a hard-hitting reputation and culture of respect and fear among those they dealt with. Rarely did he or his son have to resort to physical violence anymore. Just the threat was usually sufficient.

The older man rubbed his wrists, grateful for the loss of the irritating handcuffs. He eagerly anticipated a return to his opulent lifestyle starting with a long hot shower and clothes that didn't reek of cop. Then he'd enjoy a leisurely meal, one not served on aluminum trays and made more nauseating with an overdose of fatty, over-spiced gravy. For the past several months, every meal slopped on his prison tray seemed to have a ubiquitous greasy brown _roba_ poured over it. Matteo Falcone was a man who appreciated good cuisine and calling what was offered as food to him the past few months was a travesty to discriminating gourmets the world over.

He'd patiently waited in prison for his team of over-paid, over-confident lawyers to work their magic and when that wasn't sufficient, he'd called in favors from some of his more respected associates. These were men he'd helped early in their careers as judges, elected officials and law enforcement officers, among others. Men who'd risen rapidly, almost miraculously, in their chosen professions. The type of assistance Falcone had provided these men wasn't anything they could risk having exposed or they'd lose everything: their jobs as well as their reputations and families.

Matteo knew each one of these men would be more than willing to demonstrate their gratitude by granting any favor he asked. He strategically selected two of his 'old friends' and had his son approach them with a special request.

Because of their timely intercession, Matteo was finally free. His brief stint in wretched confinement behind bars had given him a new perspective on life. While he'd been a "guest of the state," his son had taken over the day-to-day business and was quite successful at it. He was proud of Dante's accomplishments and trusted his business acumen. Matteo decided he'd continue to allow his son to head up the dynasty he'd built. He had another 'project' in mind for himself.

Matteo had been alone ever since his dear wife had joined her Father in Heaven – he crossed himself – and he didn't want to be alone anymore. He was tired of the bimbos that had floated in and out of his life since her death. They'd served a purpose during his mourning period, but he had no more use for pretty but mindless females.

He'd met the next Mrs. Matteo Falcone and it was only a matter of time until they would be together. There was just one little problem to be disposed of. Well, _he_ wasn't a _little_ problem, but he was inconsequential. Matteo had to figure out a way to get rid of a certain Cuban annoyance in such a way that left himself in the clear. His future wife must only see him as a gentle man and as her loving protector.

That night, when he slipped between the silk sheets of his king-sized bed, he took out a small laminated card he'd left in the care of his lawyers when he was first arrested. He felt something _or someone_ had guided his hand that night in Atlantic City when he'd pocketed "Bella's" driver's license before handing back the rest of her purse's spilled contents. He'd known immediately she was the one for him the moment he saw her walking toward the bar.

Her cute little stumble should have tipped him off, but he didn't care that she was there to lure him into the Cuban's trap. Women were easily convinced to act in ways contrary to feminine nature. Once he was able to get her under his wing and treat her the way she deserved, she would quickly come around. All women responded to being pampered and adored. And once she was carrying his child, her past would be just that, a thing of the past and she would be forever his.

Rubbing his thumb over the picture of the beautiful face of his woman, he felt an intense arousal even his beloved first wife couldn't elicit from him. The woman whose face was on the card, _mia bella_, was a truly sensual woman, one who could inflame his passions again as well as give him more sons and maybe a cherished daughter.

He knew in his heart it was meant to be…they were meant to be. He had seen it in a dream – he and his Bella, in their wedding finery standing before a beautiful altar and gold-robed priest.

Tomorrow he would set his plan in motion. The timing had to be perfect: not too soon, and definitely not too far into the future. It would be difficult to stay away from her during this initial phase of his plan, but he knew he needed to avoid arousing any suspicions in her when the trouble began.

The best way to approach his Bella was to swoop in as her friend, her protector. She would be sad at first, grieving her loss, maybe even angry, but she would come to love him in time. He could be a patient man when the prize was this great. Until then, he would be content with her coming to him in his dreams.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

_One month after Matteo Falcone was released from federal prison:_

_Ranger's POV_

I hated leaving Stephanie alone, even for a week, but Roberto Flores was a good friend and he was desperate. He'd called late one night and I knew this wasn't a business emergency; his voice was hushed yet shrill at the same time.

Roberto explained that his young son, whom he'd named Carlos after me, had been kidnapped and a ransom demand had been issued. It was a frequent occurrence in Latin America; a way the cartels made a little extra money and sent messages to people who refused to do business with them. Roberto was more than willing to pay the ransom, but he didn't trust the kidnappers to release his son unharmed. That's where I came in. I was to deliver the money _and_ make sure his son came home safe and sound.

I booked a flight and flew down to Buenos Aires to meet with Roberto. It was a long flight and I caught some z's. I had a crazy dream about treading water that seemed to last forever. It reminded me of my training days during Ranger School only this dream didn't have a happy ending.

Roberto picked me up at the airport. He was a tall imposing man, swarthy with the lean ropy muscles of a swimmer. There was a lot more grey showing in his thick black hair than when I'd first met him, but the lines around his eyes and mouth were new. I could see the desperation in him. Roberto had had Carlos late in life and he was his only child. I didn't have children yet, but I could imagine how he felt.

Many years ago, Roberto had saved my life by hiding me from the vengeful son of a drug lord I'd assassinated while I was under contract with the U.S. government. In the intervening years, I'd helped Roberto resolve problems with the cartels several times. They'd infiltrated his pharmaceuticals company, stolen top-secret drug research from him, and they had tried to shake him down for protection money. Now, with his son's life in danger, he was understandably upset, but he'd raised the ransom money and entrusted it, as well as his son's safety, to me.

The kidnappers had called and left instructions for the money drop. I was to fly out to an island in the Pacific, about a three-hour flight due west of Santiago. The island was known as Isla Más a Tierra, or Robinson Crusoe Island, part of the Juan Fernández Archipelago and a protected national preserve. The large island was quite isolated with only about 800 people living there, mainly lobster fishermen. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble for what should have been a simple exchange of a suitcase full of money for a young child.

I flew into Santiago and met with Flores' private pilot. He had a small plane ready and waiting for me. The pilot knew the score and, as a trusted employee of Flores, he was willing not only to fly me out to the island, but he also pledged to be my backup. A quick flash of his jacket revealed his shoulder harness complete with an older model .357 Magnum.

An hour before we were to leave, I called Stephanie. It had only been two days, but I already missed her beyond reason. I couldn't believe how quickly she had become an integral part of my life. We hadn't spent one night apart since the day I'd proposed to her, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

We were planning our wedding and I found I enjoyed it. I liked working with Steph, seeing how her mind worked; we were so different from each other. I was careful, methodical and thorough and Steph was impulsive, chaotic and delightfully creative. I liked her unpredictability. For a man who didn't smile very much, I'd worn a perpetual grin the last few months. I told her I'd be home in a few days and then found myself making kissy noises over the phone. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

The flight out to the archipelago was uneventful. Before I left Santiago, I studied satellite maps of the area and knew there was a dirt landing strip in the southern end of our target island. There were a few small outbuildings near the airstrip, but the only town on the island was several miles to the northeast. The pilot made a circle to line up with the southern end of the runway and we began our descent. We were a few hundred yards from the edge of the airstrip when the unexpected ping of bullets hitting the plane had both the pilot and me scrambling. The pilot immediately pulled the plane up and broke off the landing attempt, not sure where the gunfire was coming from.

We flew north of the island and discussed our options. The problem was we _had_ to land, not just for the exchange of the money for the child, but we had to refuel the plane to be able to make the return flight to Santiago. The only available fuel within three hundred miles was on Más a Tierra and we had only enough fuel to stay in the air for another thirty minutes or so.

The pilot circled around and now we both could see a boat anchored off the south end of the island, near the cliffs where the airstrip began. If that wasn't bad enough, the pilot informed me we were rapidly losing what little fuel we had left. A bullet must have clipped the gas line or punctured the tank itself. We both agreed our best option was to land from the north side to avoid the boat, if that was truly where the gunfire had come from.

We circled again and started our descent from the north, but just as before, we heard gunshots striking the plane. This time though, we didn't have a choice. We had to land. We both checked our weapons and prepared for a battle. As soon as the plane touched down, we could feel something was wrong. There were no brakes and the wing flaps weren't working. We were barely slowing down and it was a _very_ short runway. It took less than a minute to reach the end of the airstrip and the plane soared off the edge of the cliff.

The pilot immediately turned the plane south, trying to avoid being hit by more bullets from the boat. But in mid-turn the engine burst into flames. We turned again, hoping to be able to glide to a safe landing on the island. It was not to be. The fire had spread to the wings. We prepared for an imminent crash into the ocean.

My last thought was of Stephanie…


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

_Jump forward in time - Six months after Ranger's plane crashed into the ocean:_

The young woman, dressed in a simple terry cloth robe, stood next to French doors that led out onto a spacious balcony. The doors were closed, but the large panes of glass gave access to the spectacular ocean views visible from the cliff heights the villa was built on.

The woman, however, wasn't looking at the view. Her eyes were closed and a small smile picked up the corners of her mouth. Her arms were wrapped around her body, as if she were hugging herself. The ends of her long curly hair were anchored on top of her head with a big-toothed clip. She was as still as the chiseled marble columns that framed the French doors.

_Images flashed before her eyes. Actually, the images were only in her mind. It was the only place she truly lived now. Images of him, holding her in his arms, dancing with her, making love to her… all images of a happier time. She could live in that limbo forever, if people would just leave her alone. _

"Miss Plum?" An older woman wearing a full black skirt and loose white blouse backed into the room, her plump hip bumping open the door. The young woman gave a slight shiver and opened her eyes.

"You're up early today. You must be excited," the older woman said as she walked across the room. She set the tray she was carrying down on a small table next to the French doors. Moving around the young woman, she opened both windowed doors and gazed out at the incredible seaside vista before her. There were whitecaps breaking up the wide expanse of ocean and the sheer white curtains hanging on either side of the doors lightly fluttered as the sea breeze reached them.

The woman turned and addressed the quiet girl who, with her head angled down, seemed to be lost in thought. "I kept breakfast light this morning: some sliced fruit, a few koulouri still warm from the oven, and a pot of Phedra's honey. I think you'll like it. She brought it by this morning in celebration of your special day. I'll be making a big tray of baklava with it for tonight."

The young woman slowly lifted her head and looked at the older woman, but her gaze was unfocused. She gave a slight nod of acknowledgment and sat down in a straight-backed chair next to the table. The silver tray before her contained just what the older woman had described, plus a pot of coffee and a delicate porcelain cup and saucer.

The younger woman's voice was soft and her words came out slow and measured, "Thank you, Honna. And please, thank Phedra for the honey. I like the herbs she puts in it."

Honna smiled. "She grows the thyme herself. I think it gives a lemony flavor to the honey." Honna lifted the lid from the honey pot and then poured a cup of coffee from the aluminum pitcher situated on the tray. "I'll come back up in a little while with your gown. I still have to take it in a bit." Honna gave a small cluck of disapproval. "If you lose any more weight, your wedding dress will slip right off you and we can't have that, can we?" She pushed the plate with two rings of sweetened bread toward the young woman hoping to entice her to eat.

"This will be the first wedding at the villa since…" The older woman swallowed hard and then gave a grim smile. "I'll press the dress before I bring it up. You are going to be the most beautiful bride."

There was no response to her comments. Stephanie Plum just stared out the window, her eyes drifting over the impressive scenery, not seeing any of it.

Honna studied her young charge sitting there so still and quiet. She did not look like a young woman in love, about to be married. Honna remembered bringing breakfast to another girl in this very room on her wedding day, many years ago; a beautiful young Greek girl she had helped raise from birth. That girl was also to marry the same man Miss Plum was to marry, but she had been an exuberant bride, in love with her young Italian groom. That had been a happy day and the villa had been filled with people, laughter and noise, not like today. Today, there were only a few people in residence and no family. The villa was quiet, almost somber. With a sad look on her face, Honna left the room, leaving the door open.

Steph absentmindedly chewed on one of the koulouri and then sipped the sweetened coffee. A quiet sigh escaped her lips. As if in slow motion, she stood and walked out to the balcony. She was motionless for several minutes and then a shudder shook her entire body and it was as if she had just woken up. Her eyes widened at the sight before her as if seeing it for the first time. The Ionian Sea was a deep shade of blue turning almost black the farther out she looked. There was only water as far as she could see. Standing at the railing and watching the never-ending ocean view was the one thing that gave her a sense of peace. For the first time in days, she let herself think about what was going to happen later that day.

_Today's my wedding day_. No exclamation point, just a simple period to finish that thought. _There was a time I'd really been looking forward to getting married again._ Before I could stop it, the image of a tall, dark man with a 200-watt smile flashed before me. I slammed my eyes shut and my body shuddered, just once. Two deep breaths later and I reopened my eyes.

I was married once before and it had ended in disaster. A Dickie Orr supreme disaster. This time though, that wouldn't happen because no matter how it ended, it couldn't be worse than what had already happened, and I wasn't referring to my first marriage.

Six months ago, my life stopped. At least I think it was six months ago. Time no longer had any meaning. Nothing has had any meaning since Tank knocked on my door that day, that unforgettable day. The day I went numb. The day I learned Ranger would never come home again. I would never feel his arms around me, never hear his deep rumbling voice, never smell his wonderful scent, never have him kiss me, _ever again_. My eyes began to sting, but I couldn't stop the images or the thoughts.

Since that life-changing – make that life-ending – day, it was as if someone else was living in my body and I was standing off to the side watching my life go on without me. I could see and hear, but I couldn't feel, I couldn't taste. I felt dead inside. There were times I wanted to scream, but my throat wouldn't cooperate. I took to pinching myself just to see if I was really there. I could feel the pinch, but it was just a dull ache, like everything else in my life. He was gone. And when he left, he took my heart, my soul, my very reason for living, with him.

My hands began to tremble and my throat constricted. I couldn't breathe and my vision started to fade. I fled back inside my room and ran into the bathroom, turning on the shower. Before the water had a chance to fully heat up, I dropped my robe and stepped into the large tiled enclosure. As the water sluiced over my head and down my body, it washed away any signs of the tears I cried. It took many, many minutes, but my calm finally returned and I finished washing my hair.

He would be here soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

_Immediately after Ranger's plane crashed into the ocean:_

_Ranger's POV_

The next thing I was aware of, I was bobbing up and down in the water, clinging to a surfboard-sized piece of wreckage. A quick look around me revealed nothing, only ocean. A coughing fit overtook me and my muscles tensed, resulting in a ton of pain. I realized my body had been severely battered.

As I tread water, I took stock of my situation. I remembered the plane crashing into the ocean and remembered what led up to the crash. Spinning in all directions I looked for any sign of the plane or the pilot. I yelled, hoping to hear a response. There was no sound other than the waves pushing past me. Had the pilot made it? Had the people on that boat seen the plane go down? Were they friend or foe?

Something told me not to wait around to find out. I had blood dripping into my eyes from a cut on my forehead and I was sore all over. I could see a low dark spot ahead of me that looked like land. There was nothing to be gained by continuing to tread water. I was a floating target, for enemies or sharks.

I oriented myself and my fragment of plane debris toward land and kicked off, but was brought up short by a wrenching pain in my left leg. Reaching down, I ran my hands over my aching leg. I was pretty sure it was broken, but there was no help for it. My best bet was to make for land, the sooner the better. I steeled myself against the pain and pushed off again.

Fortune must have finally caught up with me because the area I chose to shoot for turned out to be the one safe place to access the jagged shoreline. I discovered this later when I was able to further explore the hunk of volcanic rock I found myself stranded on. Most of the island's perimeter was made up of rocky cliffs and pounding surf.

For now, I was just glad to reach dry land. It had been an exhausting and painful swim made more difficult because I couldn't help thinking of a scared little boy in the hands of ruthless kidnappers. I'd let Roberto and his son down. I'd failed my mission! Pulling myself up on the pebble beach, I collapsed, too tired to do anything else.

It must have been a few hours later when I was roused by the sound of bleating, or whatever sound goats make. I lifted my head to see about a dozen white goats up on the ridge above me. I hoped it meant there were goat herders too, and maybe a boat to get me back to the mainland. As I turned over, the pain in my left leg brought me back to the here and now. Sitting up, I examined my injuries. I had several cuts, none too deep, and a profusion of bruises had bloomed across my body. I didn't think I had injured anything internally, but I was excruciatingly sore all over.

My leg was definitely broken. I could feel the fracture, but fortunately, the skin wasn't punctured and the bones weren't too far off alignment. But it still hurt like hell and I wasn't going to be walking very much. I tore off the ripped pant leg and wrapped my leg firmly in the cotton cloth. Getting to my feet, I tried to put some weight on the leg. No go! I was going to need support of some kind.

Hopping on my good leg, I dragged the piece of wreckage I floated in on over to a small jetty of rocks. After much pounding, I managed to break off a long bar of metal I could use as a crutch. I also twisted off a small jagged piece of metal I could use as a cutting tool, or as a weapon. During the crash or while I was in the water, I must have lost my guns and the knife I always carried.

I looked back out at the ocean, but saw nothing. I could only hope the pilot had managed to survive the crash, too. And those people on the boat: Did they have anything to do with the kidnappers or were they protecting some other nefarious activity on the island?

The next logical step was to reconnoiter the area, but I wasn't in shape to do too much walking. I knew I needed to find cover in case the people who'd shot at us came looking for me. Finding some kind of shelter was also crucial if I were going to survive the night. It was the rainy winter season in this part of the world and the nights could get pretty damn cold.

I pulled myself up a long shallow slope to the top of the ridge and saw… _nothing_, just a flat barren plain. The sight before me was incredibly disheartening. No buildings, no hills, no trees, only dirt and grass and a few scattered shrubs. I was pretty sure this was Santa Clara, the uninhabited island just south of Isla Más a Tierra.

The satellite pictures of the islands in this archipelago showed this flat bit of volcanic rock wasn't the most hospitable of places. There were no streams or rivers which meant no fresh water, and there was very little vegetation. And no people. So no easy rescue. I was on my own. Next step: attend to priorities!

My best bet to find potable water _and_ shelter was to find a ravine and hope that rainfall had accumulated in the rock-filled bottom. As I hobbled out onto the barren plain, I detected a faint trail angling northwest. I didn't see the goats, but the fresh scat along the path indicated this was a recently-traveled trail. If I got hungry enough, at least there was a meat source to hunt, though I wasn't too fond of goat tartare.

The width of the island looked to be about a half mile, but with my broken leg it took me a couple of hours to reach the other side. I found a rocky ravine that looked promising, however, the goat trail disappeared when the soil did. As I descended into the narrow gorge, I had to negotiate razor sharp lava rock, but there was a substantial increase in vegetation indicating the availability of moisture, if not open water. The sun was setting and the air was cooling rapidly. Hopefully, the dark-colored rocks would retain enough heat to keep me warm all night.

I stumbled my way down over boulders of lava and found a rock overhang that would keep the rain off me. Another hundred feet down I found what I was praying for: a rock depression that held a couple hundred gallons of clear, cool water. If the winter rains continued I'd have a reliable source of water and an attraction that would bring a succulent goat right to my doorstep. But right now, my body was demanding sleep. I drank my fill, then climbed back up to the overhang and settled down for a long restless night.

Day dawned bright and cold. I woke up dizzy and warm. I had a fever – not a good sign. After crawling out from under the rock ledge, I made my way down to the "pool" for my morning drink. As I struggled back up the canyon, I started to shake uncontrollably, chills running up and down my body. There was no way I could afford to get sick; that was a death sentence. I crawled over to one of the few flat rocks wedged into the middle of the ravine and stretched out on it, like a lizard basking in the sun. I don't know how long I lay there, but the warmth helped calm my tremors.

When I got up I assessed my condition. The fever had weakened my body and my left leg wasn't able to hold much weight. The makeshift crutch was difficult to use on the steep rocky terrain of the canyon. I was also very hungry.

Studying the ravine closely, I noticed several large bushes, some that had berries on them. The berry-filled bushes were growing high up out of the rock sides, too high to be reached by the goats, but I thought I could pick several handfuls if I was careful. One of the bushes looked like a zarzamora or blackberry bush. The berries were dry and tart, but the sugar in them would help pick up my waning energy.

I also ate some of the leaves of one of the plants – I think it was a honeysuckle – that looked like it had been heavily grazed by the goats. The pain in my leg seemed to ease a bit after that and even my headache came down to a dull roar. My stomach stopped grumbling, but I was still hungry. If I could only find a bird's nest filled with eggs, my breakfast would be complete. I'd even settle for eating a bird, but I saw no sign of birds or even lizards. This was one seriously desolate island.

Ignoring my aches and pain and periodic bouts of shaking, I spent the next few hours trying to fashion something that would serve as a splint for my broken leg. The leg was swollen and throbbing and I knew walking on it yesterday hadn't done it any good. But there was no help for it if I was going to find a way off this island. A little further down the ravine, I found a small stunted tree that had a few branches thick and sturdy enough to be used as splints. It took some doing, but I managed to break off a couple of green branches and use them along with the torn pant leg to shore up my damaged leg.

Then I heard the sound I'd been hoping for: a plane engine buzzing overhead. It was late morning and about twenty-four hours since the plane crash. I was hoping this plane was sent out by Roberto to look for me. I could only pray that Roberto's son and the pilot were all right. I wasn't used to failing my missions and this one was doubly frustrating because it was personal. But first, I had to get off this godforsaken island.

The long climb up the ravine took everything out of me. I needed to get out into the open and fast so I could signal the plane, but my weakened body and the terrain wouldn't cooperate. I added several new cuts and abrasions when I took a tumble and one of the branches I was using as a splint broke in two. By the time I pulled myself over the edge of the ravine, the plane was nowhere to be seen or heard.

Discouraged but determined, I regrouped and tried to strategize. I needed a way to attract attention when the plane came back. It had to come back; I wouldn't let myself think of the alternative.

Gritting my teeth against the pain in my leg and the fever coursing throughout my body, I started gathering every bit of dead wood and clump of grass I could find. There wasn't much; the goats had seen to that. Then I did a mental head slap. I had nothing to fire up what little fuel I could find. I obviously wasn't thinking too clearly.

The first raindrops went by unnoticed. But then the floodgates opened and the cold rain came down in buckets. Grabbing my crutch, I hobbled back toward the ravine. I must have stumbled a dozen times, twisting my leg as I fell. I struggled from the simple exertion of getting back up, feeling weaker with each effort. And even with the cold rain, my skin felt burning hot to the touch.

_**Fuck! **_

_AN: Honeysuckle is reported to have the ability to relieve pain and headaches, reduce high fevers and inflammation, soothe sore throats, ease coughing and sinus pressure, and ease nausea and vomiting. But Ranger's condition may be too severe for the plant to do him much good._


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

_Again, jumping forward in time - Six months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

_Stephanie's POV_

Reluctantly, I stepped out of the shower and dried off. Showers had become a refuge for me; a place my thoughts, my memories couldn't betray me. Shaking my head in regret, I mentally chastised myself for letting my mind wander earlier.

_Carlos, oh Carlos!_ _I miss you._ _No, using your given name is too painful. It's a little easier when I think of you as Ranger._ _And while fantasies of my wonderfully badass Ranger are a very nice way to spend my time, they are too addictive; _you_ are incredibly addictive._ _And after each dream, it gets harder and harder to come back to reality. _

I moved into the bedroom and looked around. It was really a lovely room with luxurious appointments. The French doors let in an abundance of light giving the room an open cheery feel. It was quiet and provided me with a wonderful place to be alone. I didn't have to worry about other people seeing me cry or judging me. I would be sorry to leave it.

Tonight, after the wedding ceremony, I would be moving into my new husband's room. _Dear God, could I really do this? Could I be a wife to a man I didn't love? He's always been so kind and patient with me, but tonight he will expect me to come to his bed, eager for his caresses..._

That train of thought got me nowhere. I'd already agreed to be married and I could only blame myself for how I got here. I didn't see a lot of alternatives coming my way. If I went back home, I knew the constant memories would cripple me. Even here, they threatened to do so. And if I were alone, how would I support myself? Who would hire someone who spent most of the day and all of the night lost in her memories? _Crap!_ I couldn't even function normally for a few short hours no matter how hard I tried. And I refused to mooch off family and friends. _He, _though, wanted to be with me and accepted me just as I was – my weepy, dysfunctional self. I didn't dare let myself think of the future. I was living one day at a time, sometimes just one minute at a time. That was all I could handle.

While my hair dried naturally, I dressed for the day in a light blue sundress and beige sandals. A little mascara and lip gloss and I was ready to go.

Before I could step outside my door, there was a light rap on the doorjamb and _he_ came in, smiling broadly. I looked at the man I was to marry. Matteo Falcone was a handsome older man, with dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin. He had a strong face and his widow's peak pointed to a straight nose that dominated his face. He rarely dressed casually, but today he was wearing a light blue polo shirt, a pair of khaki pants and brown loafers. We kind of matched. Normally, that would bring a smile to my face, but smiles had been in short supply lately.

"Good morning, Bella." He kissed my hand and looked at me from head to toe. "You are glowing and just the sight of you fills me with joy. I can't believe that tonight you will become my wife, my beloved." He leaned in to kiss me and I leaned toward him, turning ever so slightly so that his lips grazed my cheek. Matteo pulled back, a concerned look on his face. He didn't say anything, just squeezed my hand gently and led me out into the hall.

"I thought we'd take the yacht out and sail over to Sami. Spiros just called and he has the fish I wanted for our wedding celebration tonight and he said that Elder Cosmas personally delivered a case of the Robala white, so we will be able to toast our marriage with the wine you like so much. We can pick up both the fish and the wine while we are there." He pulled my arm through his and we continued our way to the staircase.

"Sami? Isn't that the fishing village on the far northeast side of Kefalonia? That's quite a trip. Do we have time?" I asked.

"Afraid I won't get you back here in time for our wedding?" Matteo grinned and kissed the top of my head.

"Well, it will take me a little while to get ready, especially with this," I replied, lifting my free hand and crushing the mass of curls flying around my face.

He reached up and stroked my hair. "Ah, Bella, don't tame your lovely curls. Celebrate them! I love them just as they are; I love you just as you are. Please, tonight wear your hair down and unfettered… for me."

He pulled me to him and I sank against his chest. Tears stung my eyes. Teo said all the right things, but he wasn't the one I wanted to hear those words from. His chest was not the one I wanted to be held against. And tonight, I would say vows of marriage, but not to the man I loved. I would go to my marriage bed, but not with the man… I took a deep breath and pushed that thought from my mind. In its place a soft tune filled my head, but the main word had changed: _Hello denial, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again_. The truth was, denial was the only thing keeping me going. _But my words like silent raindrops fell, and echoed, in the wells of silence. _This was the reality I lived in.

The prospect of a lengthy trip right now exhausted me. Teo and I spent many of our days sailing around the island, visiting the quaint fishing villages and resort towns. Normally, it was a pleasant experience, quiet and peaceful. He loved to take me to his favorite taverns to eat the local cuisine and sample the island's famous wines. But today of all days, I just couldn't bear it. I was getting married at sunset and for some reason, things seemed to be happening in slow motion for me, allowing me to be distracted. My thoughts kept drifting to another wedding, one I experienced only in my dreams. The wedding I'd hoped to have with Ranger; the wedding that died when he had.

We reached the bottom of the stairs and one of Teo's men approached us. He was one of two men who were Teo's constant shadows; they were twins and I couldn't tell them apart. Their names were Dino and Tino, but since they were virtually identical, I didn't know which was which. They were stocky Italian men, with puffy faces, short blond hair and they each sported a trimmed ring of black facial hair from their upper lip down to their chin. They never smiled and I don't think I'd ever seen either of them without sunglasses, even when they were inside. It would be quite comical if they didn't look so threatening.

Dino – or was it Tino? – looked grim and his eyes kept darting between Teo and me as he said, "Capo, may I have a word?" Teo nodded and the man stepped aside and waited.

"Excuse me, my dearest. Let me take care of this and then we can get underway. I'll meet you at the dock." He gave me a quick kiss and strode down a side hall to his office, his bodyguard following close behind.

I left the villa and took the stairs down to the private dock where the yacht was anchored. The captain waved to me as I stepped onto the pier, but I called out and let him know I was waiting for Matteo before boarding. He went back to preparing the yacht to sail.

I leaned against the dock's railing and looked out at the water. Without my consent, my mind began to wander… again.

I didn't have too many memories of the agonizing months after I learned about Ranger's… about… about him not coming home. At first I refused to believe it. Then I remember crying, I remember screaming, I remember being _so_ _very angry_. God and I had a lot of talks, usually with me pleading, offering anything I could think of, if He would just bring Carlos home alive and well. And then I don't remember much of anything but a constant numbness that comes from deep depression.

To add to my misery, in those first few weeks I also lost Rex, my dear sweet Rex. It was his time, but the timing was abysmal. I held a funeral for him and buried him in the backyard of the cottage. There had been no burial for Ranger.

It was weeks before I let any of my friends see me. Dad and Sunny tried everything to get me out of my melancholy, but to no avail. Grandma Mazur tried to get to me to go to bingo with her friends; that was an easy one to pass up on. Mary Lou brought chocolate, donuts and Tastykakes and lots of juicy Burg gossip, but I had no appetite for sweets or rumors. Lula and Connie dragged me to Pino's, but I just picked at my meatball sub.

Even Michael flew in from New Mexico to try to shake me out of my "funk" as he called it, but his perpetual cheery mood only served to highlight how miserable mine was. And even with his blond hair and blue eyes, he reminded me of Ranger, the man I'd chosen over him. For the first time since I met him, I found myself not wanting to be around Michael. He was just another reminder of what I'd lost.

And try as they might, there was nothing any of the Merry Men could say or do that would bring Ranger back to me. Real life was just a blaring, buzzing blurriness; it was a relief to retreat into the numbing blankness of my mind.

Tank had explained in detail his trip to South America to search for Ranger after being informed that his plane had crashed. Ranger had been on a rescue mission to save a friend's young son who had been kidnapped by a local mafia-type syndicate. They were demanding a large ransom be delivered to an island off the coast of Chile where the boy was being held. The father, a wealthy businessman, had requested Ranger's help and he had immediately flown to Buenos Aires to meet with his friend. Ranger'd called me once, before he went after the boy. It was the last time anyone had heard from him. If I'd only known then that the call would be the last time I would ever speak with him…

When Tank had got the call that Ranger's plane had crashed into the ocean, I'd waited on pins and needles for several days, hoping to hear good news. It never came. Neither Ranger nor the pilot – nor the ransom money – was ever found. Tank found bits and pieces of the plane, but nothing else. The father had raised the ransom sum again and his son had been returned unharmed.

Life went on for them, but not for me. Nothing was the same after that.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

_A few days after Ranger's plane crashed:_

Tank pulled his jacket tighter around him and watched the island of Santa Clara loom closer as the boat sped toward it. The day was overcast and chilly; a rainy winter storm had just moved through leaving high waves and gusting winds in its wake.

He'd flown down to Santiago as soon as Señor Flores had called him. He couldn't get direct flights so he had several stopovers and plane changes. By the time Tank was on the last leg of his journey to Chile, he was exhausted and fell asleep sitting in a tight cramped seat in coach. While he slept, he had a graphic dream that showcased a plane on fire spiraling into the ocean and then the nightmare panned to Ranger's broken body sprawled on a rocky beach, blood dripping down his face and into his eyes. Tank hated flying.

He met up with Roberto Flores in Santiago. Flores told Tank he had arranged for a search and rescue mission within hours after the expected time that Ranger and his pilot were to return to Santiago with his son, but it was nighttime. The next day, a search patrol scoured the ocean around the archipelago and then flew over every bit of land twice. After landing on Isla Más a Tierra and questioning the residents, the patrol's leader reluctantly called off the search. They'd found nothing.

During the search, Flores had received another ransom demand from the kidnappers, this time demanding the money be dropped at a public park in Santiago. Flores had made the trip himself and successfully exchanged the money for his son.

Tank questioned the boy, but the boy could tell him very little. He'd been blindfolded the entire time and kept in a room by himself. He told Tank he had never been taken to an island. The kidnappers had driven the boy in a truck from Buenos Aires to Santiago and he'd been held in a house until his father had come for him. He said the men had treated him well and they seemed relieved when they turned him over to his father. He knew nothing else.

Tank refused to leave without checking out the archipelago for himself. Flores chartered a plane and pilot to fly Tank out to Isla Más a Tierra. The island was large and the resident population lived exclusively in the small town on the north side. The airstrip was on the extreme south end and was miles from the town. After seeing nothing from the air on either the main island or the small uninhabited one to the south, Tank had hired one of the local fishermen to take him around the main island, and then on to search the other islands in the area.

He'd spent an entire day and a half scouring the shores of Isla Más a Tierra searching for any sign of Ranger, the pilot or even pieces of their plane. Nothing! There was no sign the plane had ever landed. He questioned the people who lived in the island's only town, San Juan Baustista, but they told him what they'd told the search and rescue patrol: no one knew anything about a stranger on the island, or a plane landing or crashing, or even an unknown boat trolling the local waters. They had seen nothing out of the ordinary.

His fisherman-for-hire then took him to the nearby island of Santa Clara. If something had happened to Ranger's plane before it could land on Más a Tierra, there was a chance Ranger and the pilot could have made it to one of the other islands. Tank planned to circle the small island by boat first, conducting a visual search of the shoreline, and then they'd land and search the island on foot.

The approach to the island was forbidding: all sharp lava, steep escarpments and crashing waves. The fisherman made it clear he wouldn't jeopardize his boat or his life by getting too close. There were submerged rocks underneath the water that could sink the best of boats. Tank studied every foot of the island's border through his binoculars. It took hours as they slowly circled the island, to return to the east side where the only safe landing point was found. As soon as Tank jumped off the boat and waded onto land, he saw a piece of wreckage tangled on a rock jetty and his hopes soared.

He identified the debris as a piece of a plane. Tank scoured the immediate area, but there was nothing else. No sign that Ranger, or anyone, had recently been there. No footprints, no other wreckage or debris from the plane, no manmade anything. However, the recent winter storm had been fierce and could have washed away any evidence. Tank hiked up the slope to the flat plain and walked the perimeter, carefully studying the rugged cliffs down to the water's edge looking for anything out of place. Periodically he'd call out, sometimes yelling out Ranger's name, other times just a loud hail. The only sound Tank heard was the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks below the cliffs. He scrambled down several of the deep ravines he came across, yelling frequently, but he came back empty-handed.

In one of the ravines, he was surprised when he came across a small herd of feral goats. There'd been no sign of animals anywhere on the island other than an occasional seabird flying overhead. He guessed that last night's storm had washed away the goats' tracks and scat. The goats scattered further into the canyon when they saw him. They were the only living things he saw on the island. It was a flat islet and there weren't too many places a body could be concealed. If Ranger was on this island, he'd dug himself into someplace really deep.

Tank spent the entire day on Santa Clara. If a piece of the plane wreckage could make it here, so could Ranger, unless… unless he'd gone down with the plane. The dream Tank had on the flight down, of Ranger's body sprawled on a beach, had been a nightmare at first, then he began to think of it as a hope. Now, Tank believed it was just a sick dream, nothing more.

Regretfully, Tank returned to the boat. Next stop was Alejander Selkirk Island located about a hundred miles to the west. It was the only other piece of land in the entire region. Tank's hopes were dwindling.

_Ranger's POV_

The Y-shaped tree branch was the best I could come up with. I searched as much of the island's plain as I could given the limitations with my broken leg and found nothing that would benefit my survival or my escape. During the day, I left my little cave and climbed out onto the level plain. Stripping off my t-shirt, I stretched it over the forked branch. It would give me something noticeable to wave at any plane flying overhead. I also tried to polish the twisted piece of metal so I could use it to signal a plane or boat that came close to the island. The jagged metal didn't catch the sun's rays very well, but it was all I had.

If I had to guess how long I'd been stranded on the island, I'd say five days. I think I lost a couple of days due to the high fever. I had a vague recollection of lying in my cave and tossing and turning and talking gibberish. I even imagined a distant voice had answered me a couple of times. The fever had broken, but I was still weakened and lethargic.

I'd been living on water, a few dried berries, and a handful of green leaves and seeds gathered from various weeds and grasses. There wasn't much of anything growing on the island and what did grow was immediately eaten by the goats. With my injuries, I couldn't explore the rocky shoreline to hunt for the sea's bounty. It had rained a couple of times since I'd been here, but the little pool of water in my ravine was still shrinking. Too little food and a debilitating fever were taking their toll on my body and my ability to think clearly. I was in constant physical pain and my hunger pains were now an unrelenting distraction.

This morning, though, things took a turn for the better. I was awakened from another night of restless sleep by the clatter of hooves on rock. Goats! _Thirsty goats_. When I saw the herd making their way down to the pool, I reacted without thinking.

Using my good leg I propelled myself off the ledge and caught the hind leg of the last goat that passed in front of my overhang. Excruciating pain shot through my left leg as I landed on jagged rocks, but I wasn't about to let go of my leg of lamb – make that leg of goat. The young _cabrito_ screamed loudly and struggled, but I wasn't so weak that I couldn't subdue a frightened fifty-pound goat, especially when it was a matter of life or death. His death meant my life. I knew if I didn't get some real food in me soon, I'd be too far gone to do anything about it. The rest of the herd scattered down the canyon as I dragged myself and my kicking, bleating lunch over to a flat rock.

My jagged piece of metal came in handy and I quickly dispatched the buck and, after several attempts with the inadequate "knife," I was able to cut away some of the hide and carve off enough meat for a meal. The meat was raw and chewy, but my body was thankful for the rich protein. After resting for a couple of hours, I continued to cut off strips of meat to dry in the sun.

Then, not wanting to have a spoiling carcass near me, I hauled the remains down the narrowing canyon until a wall of rock stopped me. Looking over the edge I could see a sheer drop-off, then a strip of rocky beach pounded by huge waves. I heaved the carcass over the edge and limped back up the canyon to the pool. Being careful not to contaminate the water, I washed the blood off me and then slowly made my way back to my overhang.

As I lay down to rest, a sense of relief swept over me; I knew I could survive this. I would survive and get off this barren rock, and return home to Stephanie. I fell asleep dreaming of a curly-haired, blue-eyed girl, laughing as I bent down to kiss her.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

_Again, jumping forward in time - Six months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

_Stephanie's POV_

Watching the ocean ebb and flow against the shore kept me relaxed and in my own "zone." The wood railing along the dock was rough on my forearms, but I barely noticed it as my mind drifted back to those agonizing months after I'd learned Ranger was dead.

In time, I began my life again, but it was a half-life. There was no joy in living without Ranger. I felt I was just going through the motions. Everything about Trenton reminded me of him. I couldn't bear to have anything around me that he'd touched. I took off all the jewelry he'd given me and boxed it up, even my beautiful engagement ring. I got rid of my old cellphone and the coffee mug that Ranger always used. And then I went on a shopping spree and bought a bunch of new outfits including new underwear. It didn't cheer me up, but at least none of the new clothes reminded me of Ranger. I was seriously contemplating moving – moving anywhere that didn't have memories of what I'd lost.

Then one day about three months after learning about Ranger's plane crash, Connie talked me into having lunch at her favorite Italian restaurant. She knew I loved eating, but now even food didn't have the same appeal it used to. I could barely manage a bite or two before my throat would close up. The wine, though, was something I could swallow and actually enjoy. It numbed me enough to quiet the voices in my head. Voices that echoed the images I saw – of Ranger standing next to his BMW outside the bonds office; Ranger sitting across the table from me; Ranger with his warm hand on the back of my neck. Too many images, too many memories. But wine, sweet wine, provided a delicious fog to sink in to and dull the pain the memories provoked. _Stephanie Plum, self-delusional wino_.

While in that wine-induced fog, Connie introduced me to her godfather. Not her "Godfather" godfather, but her actual godfather who had witnessed her baptism and was like an uncle to her. She even called him Zio Teo, or 'O zi Teo.

It was rumored Connie came from an Italian family with connections to the Mafia, but until now I thought it was only gossip. I remember looking up from the table and seeing an older nice-looking gentleman smiling down at me. And then I recognized him!

If I hadn't been sitting down already, my knees would have given out. For there, standing in front of me was Matteo Falcone, rumored to be one of the family heads of the Sicilian Cosa Nostra. I had helped Ranger capture Matteo and bring him in to the Feds a year ago. When I read his FTA file, I thought he'd be scary or intimidating; after all, he was a mob boss. But then I met him and I'd found him to be a polite and considerate gentleman. Of course, he still had to be arrested and Ranger and I had done our jobs.

And now, meeting him again, he still seemed to be a very nice man. And he was Connie's godfather! He explained the charges against him were just a big misunderstanding – the IRS had a question regarding his taxes. I took his explanation with a huge grain of salt, but the fact was the charges were dropped and he was now a free man again.

He joined us for lunch and we spent the next couple of hours talking about anything and nothing. And for the first time in three months I laughed. Matteo Falcone made me forget, just for a moment, the unending ache that had become my life. He was kind and thoughtful and attentive. It was hard to stay in a fog when he was around. He wasn't like my father, who nagged at me with worrisome concern, and he wasn't like the Merry Men who were always trying to get me to cheer up. Matteo accepted me as I was. I could be myself around him, which was frequently silent, withdrawn and even depressed.

We started spending a lot of time together, sometimes just eating dinner, or watching a movie or reading books and sometimes going for a drive. Matteo enjoyed eating fine food and drinking good wine and I was definitely up for drinking fine wine. He always treated me with respect and decorum, and he never approached me sexually. He didn't demand that I talk or smile or even respond. I felt comfortable and at ease with him.

He even accompanied me to the dreaded Sunday dinner with Mom and Grandma Mazur. My mother had reached out to me after hearing about Ranger and we had finally reached a compromise. She stopped criticizing me and I didn't mention anything about my life, including my job and Dad and Sunny. Instead, we talked about people in the Burg, the weather, and the price of cold cuts. Mom thought Matteo was a consummate gentleman, but Grandma didn't think he compared favorably at all with that "hunk of a Cuban stud" I was with before. Grandma said Matteo was a nice enough looking father figure, but he was no Ranger. She said Ranger was a two-hander; his hot firm ass required both her hands for a proper squeeze. Grandma always knew what to say to put a smile on my face.

After a month of "hanging out" together, Matteo asked me if I would like to join him on a trip to Sicily, to his home there. He reassured me that I would have my own room and that I could come and go as I pleased. I was stunned, but interested. It would get me away from Trenton, where each street corner seemed to remind me of Ranger.

My father wasn't too keen on the idea, and Tank and the guys were adamant I not go anywhere with Matteo. I felt like I was being ganged up on and I resented their trying to tell me what to do; that always got my back up. And Connie spoke so fondly of her godfather, whose father had grown up with her grandfather. As a young girl, she had visited the Falcones at their villa on an island off the Sicilian coast. She said it was beautiful and would be a wonderful change of scenery for me.

So, one day, after leaving a note for my father and one for Sunny asking for a leave of absence, I packed my bags and, without telling anyone, I joined Matteo at the airport and we left!

Matteo had his own private jet so we flew to Italy in luxury, although I admit I slept most of the way over. I remember having a dream of Ranger singing to me. He had a beautiful voice and he was singing in Spanish. When I woke up, I felt better than I had in months, but that didn't last long as reality crept back in.

Sicily was beautiful and the island of Lipari, where Matteo lived, was quite a surprise to me. Lipari was larger than I thought it would be and had many quaint places to visit. Matteo's villa was in the southern end of the island and was more like a fortress, but I was treated like a member of the family and I was free to roam around the villa and the island. I even had my own chauffeur. It was a relief to be able to get away from the hustle and bustle of the crowded Falcone home and explore the island on my own. The scenery was fabulous and the weather was perfect. If only I was in the mood to appreciate it.

At Lipari, I met Teo's son Dante who seemed to run the day-to-day operations of whatever the family business entailed. Dante was about my age and looked like a younger version of his father. He rarely spoke to me and I got the feeling he resented my presence in the family home.

Matteo and Dante never talked business in front of me and I never asked about it. Matteo was called away frequently, so I was left by myself much of the time, which suited me just fine. I spent my days touring the nearby villages, churches and museums, as well as the beaches. The people were friendly, but I rarely talked to anyone, except Matteo.

I was still buried in myself, unable to respond to the smiling villagers or the happy, laughing children playing on the beaches and flocking around me when I went shopping in the local village.

Most of my time was spent thinking about Ranger, about Carlos. I remembered all the crazy situations he'd helped me out of, from stinky chicken coops to getting an irate skip to the police after she'd impaled my car with a forklift. I remembered our beginning courtship and the monkey wrench that Michael had thrown in to the works. I remembered the emotional rollercoaster ride we went through at Point Pleasant, but that ended deliciously well, with most of our time spent in bed. I remembered us dancing together at Dad and Sunny's wedding and the Spanish ballad that Ranger sang to me. He told me it was the same love song his father used to sing to his mother. Funny that I'd had a dream about that on the flight over. So many memories…

I spent endless hours reliving every minute we were together. I even remember the dream I had about being pregnant with Ranger's baby – a little baby we were going to name Miguel, or Michael. I had that dream in Sunny's magic recliner. If someone dreamed in that chair it was _supposed_ to come true. I _believed_ in those dreams. Everyone else's dreams had come true…_why not mine?_

I wrapped my arms around my flat belly and cried… I cried for what might have been… for what would now _never be_.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

_Four months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

_Ranger's POV_

Today was lobster day. The cage I'd built out of tree branches and long grass had proven its worth several times over the last few months by luring many a lobster into its depths. Two days ago, I dropped the trap along the eastern shoreline, right near the spot where I'd first landed on the island. On the way back to my "home" I stopped by a tidal pool and gathered a few snails, mollusks and seaweed for dinner; this island's version of eating twigs and bugs.

I got up this morning and started the trek back across the plain to see if the trap had done its work. Rock lobsters, or langosta, were nocturnal so traps were the only way to catch them. The salty succulent meat made a nice change from goat.

My leg still hurt, but it had nearly healed and I could walk on it with a slight limp. I couldn't believe I'd been stuck on this desolate rock for four months. I lengthened my stride, ignoring the shooting stabs of pain that ricocheted through my leg each time my left heel struck the ground.

Physical pain I could handle, but emotional pain laid me low. Until I met Stephanie I tried to disregard that part of me, but now it refused to be ignored and left me feeling vulnerable. I admit it: I missed my Babe!

My friends and family must have given me up for dead by now. And Stephanie! I couldn't stop myself from thinking… worrying and wondering about her and how she was handling me being gone… thinking I was dead. _What must she be going through?_

Damn! I hated this feeling of helplessness. I hated being stuck on this godforsaken island – stranded an entire hemisphere away from Steph, unable to hold her and keep her safe. At least she has the comfort of a loving family and friends around her. They'll keep her strong until I can get home. Thoughts of my Babe are the only things getting me through the long lonely nights.

When my leg healed enough so I could walk on it, I'd explored every inch of this barren little island and found nothing that could help me get off of it. Over the last couple of months, I'd tried a dozen times or more to swim to the island north of this one, but the currents were too strong and swept me back. I'd nearly been dashed to pieces on the rocks by the crashing waves the last time. Twice I'd spotted a boat and lit a smoky fire made from goat bones, hide and fat, but no one ever came. This was one desolate forgotten island that no one ever visited.

Pulling up the trap today was rewarding. There were two spiny lobsters huddled in the corner, one quite large. Their shiny blue-green tails looked plump and delicious. After dinner tonight, there might even be enough for breakfast tomorrow. I missed the glass of white wine I usually had with lobster, but the Santa Clara "vintage" was growing on me, even if it was only rainwater. However, my supply of fresh water was running despairingly low.

As I secured the cage with the lobsters to my back, I planned tonight's menu. Back in my little cave, I had everything I needed to enjoy my sumptuous feast. I had shelter, water, food and even a well-stocked kitchen – all the comforts of home. For my stove, I'd mastered the technique of starting a fire with sticks and tinder. Too bad there wasn't enough fuel to keep a fire going for more than a handful of minutes, but it was enough to cook a few small tails of langosta.

In my pantry, I had salt I'd scraped from rock pockets where the seawater had evaporated and used that to spice up my meals. I'd even discovered a plant whose tiny bulbous root tasted a little like garlic and when crushed over the grilling lobster tails or thin strips of goat meat, it added much needed flavoring. I also harvested an armload of seaweed, the last of the dried berries and a variety of grass seeds: some tasted like oats, others like barley. Mashed together with a little salt and heated over a fire, the berries, grains and seaweed made a tasty little cake to augment my meals.

Now that I could do limited grilling, I used every bit of meat from the goats I slaughtered. Grilled goat was much better than raw goat. And the meat I didn't have enough fuel to cook, I salted and dried in the sun. I only killed one animal every few weeks and after a few meals of fresh grilled meat, I ate jerky until it was gone. It was spring now, but the nights still got cold so the jerked meat didn't spoil.

However, the rains were coming less frequently and soon there would be no fresh water to drink. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but I knew it was time to make that swim to the next island again, _do or die_. With luck the currents will have changed, enabling me to swim the entire distance to Más a Tierra without getting pulled out to deep ocean or thrown back on the rocks of this islet.

As I topped the ridge upslope from my "lobster" beach, I heard an engine sound. I quickly scanned the sky and then the ocean. What I saw nearly made me drop to my knees in gratitude. A small boat was heading straight for my cove. I swung the lobster trap off my back and jogged down to the shore. The boat was slowly making its way past the submerged rocks and I had a chance to study its occupants.

An older man with a tanned weathered face was manning the outboard engine. The other two occupants were quite a bit younger and looked like Banana Republic models. I didn't feel threatened, but I didn't let my guard down either. The cove was shallow, so the boat didn't come all the way in to shore. I waded out to greet the newcomers.

They were surprised to see me. The older man, a lobster fisherman from Más a Tierra, was especially shocked at finding me on this barren island. He said that many months ago there had been extensive searches for two men who had flown out from the mainland, but who seemed to have disappeared without a trace. I asked if the pilot had ever been found, but learned that we both were presumed dead, lost at sea. I also asked about Roberto's son, but the old man knew nothing about that or any kidnapping.

The fisherman was ferrying the two university marine biology students to the island so they could gather data for their master's thesis. They'd brought enough supplies to last them two weeks, when the fisherman would return to pick them up.

After telling them my story, sanitized of course, the fisherman agreed to take me back to San Juan Bautista where I could use a satellite phone to arrange for transport back to the mainland. I helped the kids unload their supplies and equipment and told them to help themselves to my lobsters.

Without a backward look I climbed into the boat, eager to return to civilization… and to Stephanie.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9**

_A few days after Ranger left the island of Santa Clara:_

_Ranger's POV_

As I stepped off the plane in Newark, I was more than ready to be home. More than ready to see Steph's face when she saw me, alive and mostly well. I was quite thin and still walked with a limp, but I was in one piece. Steph would have fun fattening me up on her favorites: pizza and ice cream.

As I walked through the airport out to the pickup zone, flashes of a disturbing dream kept me off kilter. I'd had the same dream over and over again as I flew from South America back to the States. The dream was of Stephanie dressed in a long white gown standing next to a dark-haired man before an arched altar covered in flowers. The man wasn't me.

Before I'd left South America, I'd met with my friend, Roberto Flores, and his son, Carlos. Roberto filled me in on what had happened after the plane crash. The kidnappers had never been identified or caught. I was glad Carlos hadn't suffered too much at the hands of his kidnappers, but was surprised to hear he had never been taken to an island. So, what was the fateful trip to Isla Más a Tierra all about?

I asked Roberto what had triggered him to call me for assistance in the first place. He seemed surprised by my question. He answered, "My son was in trouble and you are the best man I know to help in circumstances like that."

"So, it was totally your idea to have _me_ make the drop and bring Carlos home?"

Roberto frowned as he considered my question. "Now that you mention it, the kidnappers told me the drop off would require a dangerous physical challenge and I should think carefully on who I chose to make the exchange. Up until then I was thinking I would go, but I'm not as young as I used to be and I didn't want to jeopardize my son's well-being. I run a pharmaceuticals company and employ scientists and administrators, not trained fighting men. Not like you. You have always been there for me in times of trouble and I have called upon you numerous times. You have considerable experience dealing with dangerous challenges and you have always come through for me. This was for the life of my son. You were the logical choice, the only choice."

Roberto grabbed my hand in both of his and gave it a squeeze. "I am so sorry for what happened to you… and to my pilot. He was a loyal employee and I trusted him implicitly… as I do you. I never thought he would pay for that loyalty with his life. And you, my friend, you have also suffered greatly. If you ever need _anything_, do not hesitate to ask. I am forever in your debt."

Before I said good-bye to my friend and his son, I asked about several other things that had plagued my mind for the last four months, but it only led to more unanswered questions. There was definitely something _off_ about this whole situation.

Tank met me at the Newark airport. We'd talked over the phone before my flight home and he had brought me up to speed on RangeMan. Thanks to Tank and all the other hard-working men my business was fine, but he'd been vague when I asked about Stephanie. And when I tried to call her I was told the number was no longer in service.

On the drive home to Trenton, Tank told me that Steph hadn't taken news of my "death" very well. My heart sank when he told me how depressed she'd become. I was worried because she'd already undergone a serious bout with depression last year when Benny had been killed. But back then, she'd felt her own actions had contributed to the tragedy of that night. With my "situation," Steph had nothing to do with it. Roberto was my friend and it had been my choice to go.

I sympathized with her because I knew how I'd feel if she'd been taken from me. But I would be home soon and be in her arms again… or so I thought.

What Tank didn't tell me until we hit the outskirts of Trenton stopped me cold. He said Stephanie was no longer in Trenton… no longer in Jersey… in fact, she was no longer on American soil. When he told me why, my blood began to boil.

Somehow, the mobster Matteo Falcone had been released from Federal custody a little over five months ago. Tank said the SOB paid off someone high up in the government and all charges had been dropped. Falcone was a free man. And then about six weeks ago, he'd weaseled himself into Stephanie's life. Tank said Steph was so depressed she wasn't thinking clearly and seemed to encourage his "friendship." And if that wasn't bad enough, he'd conned her into going to Italy with him. _What was she thinking?_

I smashed my fist into the dashboard of the SUV we were in, cracking the molded plastic. Tank just kept driving.

_Damn!_ Steph was way too trusting for her own good. I remembered how accommodating and concerned she'd been when Falcone had been injured the night we captured him. She even insisted I treat his sprained ankle. At the time, I thought her compassion was endearing; now, not so much.

Tank said he tried to talk her out of going, but she was so despondent and said everything about Trenton reminded her of me and she just couldn't bear it any longer. She wouldn't listen to her father's pleas not to go with that sleazebag. Even Michael Hunter had come to town to try to talk some sense into her. Tank said he, Michael and several of my men had even considered kidnapping Steph and holding her in a safe house until they could convince her not to trust Falcone and certainly not to go anywhere with him. _They should have followed their instincts._

Tank said she stopped talking to them and without warning, she flew out with Falcone on his private jet a little over three weeks ago. Three weeks! I'd missed her by three weeks. I wanted to hit something again, but the throbbing in my hand made me rethink that impulsive move. As I sat there seething, I remembered the dream I had on the flight home. Steph in a white gown…_marrying_ a dark-haired man. **Falcone!**

My heart clenched. I had to talk to her. Tank had told me she had a new phone number. I asked Tank for his phone. He started to say something, but handed over his phone instead. He had her on speed dial, but I was disappointed when I got a recording saying her inbox was full. I couldn't even leave a message. I thrust the phone back at Tank.

As Tank pocketed it, he informed me, "She turned off her phone more than a week ago."

"When was the last time you talked to her?"

"Eight days ago. That was when she said she needed to put the past behind her. She said all the calls from her father, her grandmother, the guys at RangeMan…were just too painful. I've called her every day since then, but _nada_. Lester and Bobby called too, but she hasn't returned any of our calls and now there's the recording saying her voicemail is full."

"What about the trackers on her phone or …"

Tank shook his head. "She changed phones before she left and her father said she didn't take any of her jewelry, including that heart necklace you put a tracker in."

Stephanie hated wearing trackers, but this was exactly the kind of situation I felt it necessary for her to wear them. She didn't know I was still alive and I had no way to tell her, no way to find her.

I stared at Tank and then cut my eyes to the road in front of us. The implications slammed into my gut. Steph had mourned me for four months and now was moving on with her life… _with Matteo Falcone_. I could almost hear my heart breaking in two, and then rage blinded me. _That bastard!_ That scheming, conniving, black-hearted murderer! And he had my Babe in his filthy dirty clutches. This couldn't be happening! She had to be out of her mind with grief to go along with this. I needed to get to her and I needed to do it _now_.

"Take me back to the airport," I barked.

Between tightly compressed lips, Tank exhaled loudly. "You're not 100 percent, Ranger. First off, you need to get that leg checked out. I can tell it's causing you a lot of pain. And second, you look like shit. You've dropped over fifty pounds and none of it was fat. Thirdly, you don't have a passport. Before you go off half-cocked, let's get you home and then we can plan out what we need to do."

"Fuck that! I have a temporary passport issued to me so I could return home. And I'm fine," I nearly shouted as my hand absently rubbed my aching left leg. Each minute Steph was with Falcone was tearing me in two. "I have to get to her now!"

"You don't even know where she is. Italy's a big place. Let's talk to Connie first."

"Connie?" I wasn't sure who Tank was referring to. "Connie Rosolli?"

"Yeah. Seems Falcone is her godfather."

"As in…?" I laid my finger alongside my nose, feeling my eyebrows tighten as my head shook in disbelief.

Tank also shook his head, but in negation. "Their families grew up together in Sicily. Connie told Steph when she was a child, she'd even visited the Falcone family home in Sicily, so she can tell us where it's located. As his goddaughter, maybe Connie can be your middle man or at least give you some information that would be helpful. I have a feeling Falcone won't let you just waltz in there and take Stephanie."

"Are you saying Steph is being held against her will? That's all the more reason to leave now." I was already hot under the collar and now I was boiling mad. Falcone was a dead man! I had no doubt of Steph's love for me. She was just crazy with grief. That _had_ to be it! _Once she knows I'm alive, she'll leave Falcone. She'll choose me._

"I'm saying let's talk to Connie before we dive headlong into a Sicilian Mafia firefight," Tank reiterated. He continued to argue his case and he made several good points and finally, I relented.

I didn't bother to tell Tank there would be no "we" in this fight. It was my job to take care of Stephanie and his to take care of RangeMan in my absence.

Connie was shocked to see me. Everyone was. When I called my family they insisted I come home so they could give me a proper "welcome back from the dead" party, but I explained I had to bring Stephanie back before I did anything else. When Bobby saw my limp, he insisted I see an orthopedic surgeon. He wanted me to get my leg reset, but that would mean spending weeks, if not months in a cast. All that could wait. All I could think about was getting to Italy and telling Steph I was alive and holding her in my arms.

I questioned Connie about her godfather and his family and asked her to describe where they lived in Italy. She talked in glowing terms about her extended Sicilian family, but she couldn't remember much about the villa other than it was very big and on the island of Lipari, just north of Sicily. And that the house was located south of the main town along the southeastern coastline. That was good enough for me.

I flew out later that evening.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

_Nearly five months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

_Stephanie's POV_

My Dad would be proud of me. In the short time I'd been on Lipari I'd learned a lot of Italian. Matteo had been patient, repeating the same words over and over again until they stuck with me. And I was now feeling brave enough to talk to the shopkeepers and the children in the village. They smiled whenever I tried out my halting, stammering Italian, gently correcting me and encouraging me to try again. I surprised myself when I laughed with them instead of retreating into my mental funk.

Each morning I walked the mile or so to a little café and sat at one of the outdoor tables to have my coffee. The owner would bring me a sample of the day's baking and tell me, in Italian, what it was. Then I had to repeat it back to him. It was a fun game and my vocabulary quickly grew. I found myself looking forward to my daily trips to the local village and interacting with the friendly residents.

The evenings weren't as free and relaxed. Dinner at the Falcone villa was formal and always crowded. There were aunts and uncles and cousins and lots of family friends. Everyone dressed up for the evening and liquor flowed freely making for a noisy boisterous night. Most of Matteo's extended family lived in Sicily and only spoke Italian, so I was left out of most conversations.

I usually spent the evenings sitting quietly while everyone else had a good time. At first, his family tried to include me in their discussions, but it was awkward when Matteo would have to translate what they said to me and then have to translate my responses back to them. Over time, they just left me alone. I was okay with that, which would have surprised my family and friends. It was the first time I was comfortable with being ignored. It allowed me to indulge in my favorite pastime: Ranger daydreaming. Besides, his family had made it abundantly clear I did not compare favorably with Matteo's deceased and much loved wife. I wanted to shout at them that I wasn't Matteo's wife and I had no interest in competing with a dead woman, but I remained silent. I just didn't have the energy to argue. _  
_

Then one morning, Matteo told me to pack my things, that we were leaving within the hour. Matteo seemed agitated, but I was too upset to ask him why. I thought we were returning to Trenton, and just the idea of that sent a jolt of panic through me. Fleeing into my bathroom I locked the door, leaving Matteo in confusion on the other side. For the first time, I witnessed Matteo's darker side, as he pounded on the door and shouted at me to come out, saying that we had to leave Lipari at once. I paced back and forth in the small room, hyperventilating and trying hard not to break down. Matteo had no idea what had sent me into such a panic until I pleaded with him not to take me back to Trenton.

When he finally explained we were going to Greece and not New Jersey, I flung open the door and fell into his arms in relief. Stroking my back, Matteo explained he had an emergency that he had to take care of personally. We would fly in to Athens and then later that day we would continue on to Cephalonia, or Kefalonia, a large island off the western side of Greece. Matteo said he had the use of a small villa there and he told me we could stay as long as I liked. And then he told me to pack my things as we were leaving immediately.

My little breakdown and then my slowness in packing delayed Matteo's departure plans. I couldn't find my cell phone and tore up the room looking for it. I hadn't used it in weeks, but I wanted it, just in case. Now, I'd have to buy a new one and hope I could remember everyone's numbers. The delay must have made Matteo really mad because he'd never been so curt or abrupt with me. He literally pulled me out of the villa and shoved me in the car and then we raced to the airport. Dante had watched the entire dramatic scene and even laughed as I stumbled when Matteo dragged me down the steps. I was already pissed and Dante's snarkiness pushed me over the edge.

While on the way to the airport, I recovered enough to snap back at Matteo. "How _dare_ you treat me so rudely. If you ever manhandle me again, I'll… I'll break both of your arms."

Teo smiled at me as he apologized. "You're right, mia Bella. That was rude of me." He squeezed my hand. "I will never do that again."

"You'd better not," I replied huffily. He was still smiling. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No, my dear. I'm just happy to see that spark in you again, even if it is an angry spark." He leaned over and kissed my cheek, and I let him. He looked contrite. It felt good to have an emotion other than grief and sadness. But I wasn't totally mollified yet.

"Why were you so horrid to me? We're using your private jet so there wasn't a flight time we had to meet. What's the rush?"

"I explained I have an emergency only I can handle," he said as he dropped my hand and looked out the window.

"But that doesn't explain why you got so mad at me," I pouted.

Matteo still wouldn't look at me and he was fidgety, which was very unlike him.

"Well?" I asked, not willing to let him off the hook.

He finally turned to me. "If you must know, I received unexpected news. Disturbing news. It was something I thought I was done with, but you don't want to hear about my business problems. I'm sorry, mia Bella. I took my frustrations out on you. Forgive me?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. I didn't feel he was being totally honest with me, but if it was about his business then I really didn't want to know.

However, that unpleasant scene and the scare of returning home brought back all my fears and grief of losing Ranger and I retreated inside of myself again. That's where Ranger still lived, where his arms could still hold me tight and make me feel safe and secure.

The flight from Sicily to Athens was a short one, but I promptly fell asleep. When I woke up, we'd already landed. I had a fleeting memory of the tail end of a dream. The dream was shrouded in a cloud and Ranger was clenching the bars of a gate and looking toward a large house. Strong emotion shone through on his face and I could hear him calling to me. I guess it was a symbolic dream of Ranger on one side of the pearly gates and me on the other… separated… until I died and could join him. _Stephanie Plum, Dream Reader._

Matteo's business in Athens only took a half-day and then we flew in his private jet to Argostoli, the capital of Kefalonia. We drove south of the main town to an estate covered with olive trees. The small villa was tucked back among the trees against the sea cliff and I liked it much better than the sprawling compound in Italy. The villa had white-washed walls, a red-tiled roof and lots of windows opening out toward the sea. There were only a few employees who took care of the household, and only the housekeeper, Honna, spoke English so I didn't feel pressured to talk or smile or respond to a lot of people.

After my emotional setback in Lipari, I felt like I'd taken a huge step backward and spent an increasing amount of time sunk within my own dark thoughts. I sat alone in my room and kept thinking about Ranger and what might have been. I analyzed everything Tank had told me about his search for him, wanting there to be hope, even a slight one that Ranger could have survived, that he could still be alive. But Tank had left me no hope. The man I thought nothing could bring down, the man I thought was invincible, was dead. And that left me feeling dead, too.

Of course, I couldn't spend all the time locked up in my room. Matteo had more free time here in Greece, and we spent much of it sailing around the islands on his yacht. We didn't talk much when on the yacht; we simply enjoyed the journey. So my mind was free to wander. Some afternoons, guests would arrive and stay for dinner and Matteo would ask me to play hostess. I tried to stay present when other people were around, though I wasn't too successful. Matteo never questioned my dark moods, but I know he was happier when I smiled and acted as if nothing was wrong. It was easier now there weren't so many people around. I had more time to myself, to retreat into my memories. It's where I was happy.

After a couple of weeks in Greece, I started to mellow a bit. The villa was quiet and peaceful with very few people around. My room looked out onto the ocean and it was a soothing retreat for me. Matteo didn't seem to be as tense here in Kefalonia and he wasn't called away on business as much.

The more relaxed I became, the friendlier Matteo became, though he never pushed me into physical displays of affection. More often than not, we just sat quietly together on the yacht or on the sofa or on the balcony, and that was my time for thinking about Ranger and all the happy times we'd had together.

We'd been in Greece a few weeks when, over a leisurely late dinner, Matteo proposed. He proposed _marriage_. I was _so_ _not_ expecting that.

He told me he'd fallen in love with me the moment we'd met, more than a year ago in Atlantic City. He knew I was involved with another man, so he didn't pursue it. But when his goddaughter mentioned that her friend was grieving the loss of her fiancé and that friend was Stephanie Plum, it was too much of a coincidence for him to ignore. He begged Connie to "introduce" us. He told me each day he spent with me was a gift.

I was touched by his words and believed he meant what he said, but I was not looking to get married. In fact, that was the last thing on my mind. I appreciated that he didn't pressure me for an answer, and gave me time to absorb what it would mean to be married to Matteo Falcone, a man nearly twice my age; a man who obviously dealt in dubious things I had no desire to know anything about.

As for me, it didn't really matter. It didn't matter that Teo was older than me or that he was reputed to be involved in the Mafia. It didn't matter to me if I was single or married. It didn't matter that I didn't love Teo; my heart would always belong to another. But then again, nothing seemed to matter anymore.

The more I thought about it, being married to Teo would solve one of my problems. It would mean I'd never have to return to Trenton. Just the thought of it made me ill. I wanted nothing more than to have no reminders of my past. I never wanted to see Trenton again and even the thought of seeing my friends and family was too painful.

I'd even turned off my phone and hadn't talked to anyone from home in weeks. They only made me feel worse by always asking me how I was feeling. I knew they didn't really want to know; they just wanted me to say "Great!" and I couldn't do that. I wanted to escape my old life and Teo could afford to give me that. But if I told Teo no, I wouldn't marry him, would he send me home? My entire body started shaking just at the thought, remembering the day Tank had told me Ranger was dead. That was all Trenton meant to me now.

I knew marriage would require certain… uh… things from me, but I spent so much of my time locked away with my memories of Ranger that I was sure I could turn those nighttime "moments" with Matteo into my remembered nights with Ranger. I lived in a fantasy world most of the time anyway. I guess I was getting married again.

And today was my wedding day. It was a day no different than yesterday or the day before. Another day without Ranger.

I was still lost in my memories, staring out at the sea, when Teo joined me. He seemed distracted and edgy. "Plans have changed, Bella. No relaxing sailing trip for us. Looks like you are going to have all day to make yourself even more beautiful for me. Let me tell the captain he'll be making the trip to Sami by himself. Then I'll walk you back up to the villa."

He didn't tell me why the plans changed and I didn't ask. It didn't matter if I spent the day on a boat or in my room. It was all the same to me.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11**

_The day after Ranger left Trenton for Italy:_

_Ranger's POV_

I couldn't get a direct flight to Sicily, but I still arrived in Palermo the next morning and there were hourly flights to Lipari.

On the long flight over, I managed to get a few hours of sleep, but most of it was interrupted by disturbing images of Stephanie. I could see her face, but it was without her usual smile. She was surprisingly thin and there were dark circles under her still beautiful blue eyes. In the dream she was standing in a large room with white walls and she was staring out a window that looked out on the ocean. There were tears streaming down her cheeks. Unable to bear her sadness, I shoved the dream to the back of my mind.

It was easy to locate the house I wanted: a quick look in the phone directory gave me the address. But it wasn't just a house. It was a huge sprawling residence surrounded by solid walls ten feet high. After reconnoitering the compound, I figured my best bet was going in through the front door. The villa was heavily guarded and I noticed several types of security systems throughout the compound. While I knew I could successfully break in, it would be foolhardy to try to break Stephanie out. I didn't know what shape she was in, either physically or emotionally. And Tank was right; I wasn't 100 percent myself.

It was mid-afternoon when I walked up the driveway to the Falcone estate. There was a small booth on this side of locked double gates. A short, stocky middle-aged man, his gut hanging over the belt of his poorly made suit, stepped out of the booth and confronted me. His loose-fitting jacket exposed his shoulder harness as well as large wet patches under his arms. His underarms scared me more than the Glock.

I asked to see Stephanie Plum. My request was met with an abrupt wave of dismissal. I stepped forward, towering over the older man and demanded to talk to Matteo Falcone. The guard hurriedly shuffled back over to the booth, picked up a phone and spoke in rapid Italian. There was a short response and the man waved me to the side.

A few minutes later a car pulled up on the other side of the gate. A man of medium height and dark hair stepped out from the rear of the car and approached the gate. He looked like a younger version of Matteo Falcone and he was dressed in an expensive looking silk suit. I couldn't see his eyes as he was wearing a pair of dark sunglasses.

"I'm Dante Falcone. What business do you have with my father?" He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me.

I strode toward the gate and the driver got out of the car, his hand dipping into his jacket. Ignoring that threat, I said, "I'm here to see Stephanie Plum."

My words didn't seem to surprise Dante Falcone. His terse reply was, "Ms. Plum isn't here. Neither is my father. Now go." He turned back toward the car. I noticed he didn't ask me who I was. Maybe he didn't care? Maybe he already knew?

"I know she's here. I just need a minute with her."

He turned back and faced me, his voice dropped to a conciliatory tone, "Ms. Plum is a free woman. If she wants to speak with you, that's her business. But I tell you the truth, she is not here. She left earlier this morning." He spread his hands and smiled.

_Steph is gone?_ "Where did she go? Did she leave with Falcone?" I probed none too gently.

Dante's jaw tightened. "I am not her social secretary. I do not keep track of her whereabouts. She was a guest of my father's for a few weeks and now she is gone. As you should be."

I grabbed the bars of the gate and in a calm but firm voice said, "I'm not leaving until I speak with her."

This time the younger Falcone shouted, all semblance of niceness gone. "Then you'll be waiting forever." His arm shot out, his finger pointing at me. "You… are a bloody nuisance. I've answered your questions and told you what I know. If you don't leave immediately I'll have you removed from the premises. I am not someone you want to mess with." He shot a glance to the guard and lifted his chin.

I could hear the huffing of the old man as he approached me from behind. Whirling, I decked the clueless goon and strode away. I wasn't someone the Falcones wanted to mess with either.

I walked away from the gates and considered my next move. I believed Dante Falcone. I believed Stephanie was no longer here. Maybe Connie had gotten through to her and Steph was on her way home? Or maybe Matteo Falcone had taken Stephanie somewhere else? Either way, he had to have known I was coming. I wondered if Connie had called her godfather and warned him? No, that wasn't fair. Connie might have called him, but it would be to get word to Stephanie that I was alive, nothing more.

If she was on her way back to the States, wonderful. But if Falcone had left with her, where would he have taken her? I needed to call Tank.

Wanting to keep an eye on the comings and goings at the Falcone compound, I parked my car at the end of the road and took out my phone. First, I called Stephanie on the off chance she now knew I was alive and was on her way home. Strange... I got a message saying the phone was no longer in service. Next, I called RangeMan.

"Yo," Tank answered.

"She's not here."

A short silence and then Tank asked, "Then where is she?"

"If I knew that, I'd be there. I need you to do some digging. See if Steph is a passenger on any international flight home from Italy. She would have left today. And also find out where else Falcone might go with her. Check the passenger lists on all flights out of Lipari or Palermo."

"I can check the commercial flights easy enough, but Falcone has a private jet. Getting info about that will be next to impossible. As for finding stuff out about the Falcones, that could take some time. We don't usually run in those circles," Tank commented. "You're talking about digging into some very personal info about a mob boss. No one, except someone with a death wish, is going to talk to us about that."

"Use any source, call in any favor you can. Try Carmody; he owes me for that last gig with the FBI. And while you're talking to the FBI, find out why the hell Falcone was released in the first place. I thought they had an airtight case against him. And go see Connie. See if she'll dig around. Tell her Steph has been unreachable for weeks. Tell her Steph still doesn't know I'm alive. Maybe Connie can reach her directly through Falcone. Surely, he'd wouldn't stop Connie from talking to Steph."

"I'll try…"

"Don't try…**Do it!**" I barked.

"Easy now, Ranger, we'll find her. He's not going to hurt her. He's got the hots for her."

"_That's_ why I have to get to her now, before that aging Romeo…" I growled, unable to finish the sentence.

"Hang tight," was Tank's version of commiserating. I disconnected.

Falcone had had the hots for Stephanie from the moment he'd seen her in Atlantic City. I didn't think it was a coincidence that'd he'd just run into her after he was released. I bet he systematically courted her and used her grief over my "death" to get close to her. And now, thinking about the reason Roberto called me to handle his son's kidnapping and the odd events surrounding it… I didn't believe in coincidences.

Right now, I had nothing to do but wait. I staked out the Falcone compound, but didn't see Matteo or Stephanie. Asking questions about the Falcone family in their hometown would be suicide and would only put a target on my back. I had to trust that Tank would find some clue to Falcone's whereabouts.

If he'd flown his private jet out of Sicily, maybe he filed a flight plan. I could go out to the airport where Falcone kept his jet and search for info.

If I just sat here doing nothing, I'd go crazy.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

_Three days after Ranger arrived in Italy:_

_Ranger's POV_

It took two agonizingly long days for Tank to get back to me. He found no trace of Stephanie, not on a passenger list or in Trenton.

Our contact with the FBI wasn't much help. Someone from _way up_ the ladder had signed Falcone's release and the FBI was shitting bullets over it. They were still pursuing more charges against Falcone, but someone was putting up roadblocks every time they got a lead.

Tank had also called in several favors from some business associates in "low" places, but hadn't learned anything usable about Falcone or his whereabouts. No one was willing to dish any dirt about the Family; the Falcones were known for their swift and deadly retaliation of snitches.

Tank continued to check passenger flight lists and he'd already made a nuisance of himself with repeated calls to contacts in several of the alphabet agencies. It was as if Falcone had just vanished into thin air.

However, through a sophisticated computer search – _I said a silent thanks to Hector for insisting we purchase that new search software_ – Tank was able to find out the Falcone family owned penthouse apartments in Paris, London and New York City, though the properties were all owned by different corporations. Even finding that information had been difficult. Most organized crime families had had years of "sanitizing" their business and personal records. If they didn't want anyone to know about what they were up to, they had ways of hiding things like real estate purchases, business dealings and even birth and death records.

While I waited to hear back from Tank, I did the sleuth thing and checked out the local airport late one night. I searched for the flight plans for the Falcone jet, but was unable to locate them or anything else that would lead me to where Falcone might have taken Stephanie. I searched the offices, hangar and maintenance area. The next day I went back to see if I could find someone who would talk to me about recent flight departures. From one of the mechanics, I learned that Falcone's private jet had flown out the same day I had arrived in Lipari, but the flight plans had never been formerly filed with airport authorities. And when I asked too many questions I was roughly escorted off the premises. It didn't pay to get too nosy about the local mob family.

On the drive back to the pension I was staying at, a drunk ran me off the road. My car would have gone over the cliff if I hadn't been able to swerve into the mountainside and stop the car from plunging onto the rocks below. The car was totaled and I was banged up, but able to walk away. It was time to get out of Lipari.

So, while Tank went in to the City to check out the Falcone's New York apartment, I flew to Paris and then London to do the same.

. . .

It had been over three weeks since I'd left New Jersey for Italy and I was no closer to finding Stephanie. I had the full resources of RangeMan behind me and even with that advantage my quest was beginning to feel hopeless. As my anger built, I was willing to take more chances.

When I had returned to Lipari after striking out in Paris and London, I'd finally been reckless enough to ask the local residents about Stephanie and even about the Falcone family. I found people in the nearest small village who had seen Steph, but they had only said "ciao" or "buongiorno" to her or talked with her briefly about their wares or about the weather. Inconsequential things. And the only information the locals would share about the Falcones was how civic-minded they were and how generous they were to the local charities and neighborhoods. _Philanthropic bribery!_

A couple days after I got back, something happened that sharpened my focus and put to rest any doubts I had about Falcone's intentions. I hadn't been able to sleep and went out for a midnight run along the beach. When I returned, the local polizia was all over my room. It seemed someone had snuck into my rooms at the pension and shot up my bed. After questioning me for several hours, the local police let me go with a veiled warning that I was no longer welcome in Lipari. Even the owner of the pension asked me to leave. No one wanted to be around someone with a contract on their head. I guess the Falcone family didn't like me asking questions about them in their hometown.

But I still had to find a lead to Stephanie. I started checking the local businesses along the road between the town of Lipari and the Falcone villa. One of the shops was a little café. I talked to the owner and he recognized Steph's picture. With a grin he told me that every morning "la bella donna" stopped by for coffee and an Italian language lesson. He confided that she had sad eyes and he worked hard to make her smile. But then one day she just stopped coming in. He didn't know the pretty lady with the sad eyes was from the Falcone estate. And he had no idea where she was now.

At least I knew Steph was all right, if a bit sad, and that she'd been free to come and go from the Falcone compound. I'd had visions of her being held against her will, but it seemed she was with Falcone by choice.

I knew Steph was depressed. I got that. And I could see, with her trusting nature and current grief-stricken state, that Falcone could persuade her to go away with him. What I didn't get was her breaking off all communication with her family and friends. Steph was very close to her father and grandmother and she had several good friends she always kept in touch with. I found it hard to believe she would completely cut off all contact with them.

I called Tank again. "Go see her father and grandmother… and Mary Lou and Lula and anyone else you can think of. See if they've had _any_ contact with Steph or know how to reach her. Someone has to know something that can help us find her."

"I've already talked with Lula and she hasn't heard a thing from Steph in weeks. I'll talk to her father, Mary Lou, Grace and anyone else I can think of, but don't ask me to go near her grandma."

"C'mon, man. She's a tiny old lady. Just turn on the charm."

"Hell no! She's all over me even when I give her my 'back the fuck off' look. That old coot's got wicked sharp claws and her grip is like a vise… just ask Santos. He almost became a eunuch the last time she grabbed his junk."

"Tank…"

"Alright. I'll do it, but you owe me… _big time_."

. . .

I checked in to a small obscure hotel in the island's main town and hunkered down to lessen my exposure. Nowadays, even in provincial Sicily, hit men could be anyone, even a woman. I didn't think I'd get anywhere by nosing around Lipari anymore. I was convinced Falcone had taken Steph far away from here.

Tank called the next night. He told me Michael Hunter was in town and he was very happy to hear I was alive. But after hearing about Steph being incommunicado for several weeks, he was as worried as we were. He wanted to help, so Tank split up the list of people to contact regarding Steph's current location.

Tank made the rounds of Stephanie's friends and Michael visited Steph's family. I made a few clucking sounds to razz Tank about chickening out and giving Michael "Grandma duty," but Tank was just happy his ass was unmolested.

Tank got nothing new from Connie. She said she'd made several calls to her godfather after we talked with her. He didn't answer, so she left him a message about me being alive and asked him to tell Stephanie the good news. Neither Steph nor Falcone had returned her calls. She even made another call while Tank was there. He asked her to continue trying to reach Stephanie and if she reached Falcone to insist he let her talk directly to her. Mary Lou and Grace hadn't heard from Steph since after the first week she went abroad. Everyone was getting worried about her.

Michael talked to Steph's father and Sunny, and they said Steph told them she needed some time away from everything that reminded her of me and that included phone calls from family. They were understandably concerned about Steph's state of mind. Frank was afraid his daughter was so upset about my "death" that she might do something… impulsive.

Steph… impulsive? _Hell yeah!_ Steph was known for her impulsiveness. But she was not known for giving up. Frank shouldn't fear that. I couldn't believe she would make that final decision to give up, to take her own life. I had to believe her current depression was just Steph's way of regrouping, of coming to terms with me no longer being in her life. That she would come through this stronger and more confident and sure of herself. While I had faith in Stephanie; I also wanted to find her as soon as I could. I wanted to be by her side, as she became the best she could be. When we got engaged we had pledged to spend the rest of our lives together. She needed to know our pledge was still alive; that _I_ was still alive.

Then, according to Tank, Michael "braved" a visit to Steph's grandmother. After Edna tried unsuccessfully to have her way with Michael's ass, he got her to talk about her granddaughter. She insisted Stephanie hadn't called her since she'd left Italy with that "old fogey wop."

When Michael asked her how she knew Steph wasn't in Italy anymore, Edna rolled her eyes and wandered out to the kitchen. Michael followed her and found her with her head stuck in the fridge. She came out with two bottles of beer and tapped them on the closed refrigerator door. Then she sidled up to him and thrust one of the bottles against his groin, making a lewd suggestion. Not deterred, Michael put the kitchen table between himself and Steph's grabby grandmother, set the unopened beer on the counter and tried to get her back on the subject of Stephanie. When pushed, Edna just pointed to the refrigerator and took another swig of beer, belching loudly. Steph's Grandma had her odd moments and this was one of them.

Confused, Michael looked over at the fridge and there, under a Pino's ad magnet was a postcard featuring a picture of three tanned men in Speedos posing suggestively on a white sand beach. Written across the top of the card were the Greek words, "Kalós ílthate stin Elláda." Michael said when he flipped the card over the caption translated, "Welcome to Greece" and the beach location was identified as "Platis Gialos" on the island of Kefalonia.

On the postcard, Steph had written, _"Thought I'd share some of the local Greek scenery with you, Grandma. This beach is just a little ways from where I'm staying. It's lovely here. Very peaceful. I love you, Steph."_

The postmark was dated last week. I left for Greece the next morning.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13**

_Several weeks after Ranger arrived in Italy, he flew to Greece:_

_Ranger's POV_

There were only morning flights to Kefalonia and I'd already missed the day's last flight. I got a room near the airport in Athens and called Tank.

"I'm in Athens. I'll take the 0800 flight out to Kefalonia. Did you come up with a lead on a location yet?"

I knew the island's airport was just south of the main town, Argostoli, and so was the beach that Steph mentioned in her postcard to her granny. But that was still a lot of ground to cover. I was getting a bad feeling about Steph and I didn't want to waste time searching for the right villa. I also didn't want to blow my cover.

Tank replied, "_Uhn-uh_. The only Greek connection to Falcone that I can find is his deceased wife; she died several years ago. Her family was from Athens, but according to the data search I just finished running she was the last surviving member of that branch of the Stathopoulos family, other than her son, Dante. The family was well-known for their olive oil and honey, but the business folded when old man Stathopoulos died more than a decade ago."

"Are there any Stathopoulos family holdings in Kefalonia?"

"I just found this last bit of info a few minutes ago. I'll run a property search now. Give me a couple of hours."

"OK. And Tank, I don't think it will spill over to RangeMan, but be on your guard. Falcone put out a hit on me."

"You've got to be kidding?"

"I wish. There were a couple of attempts in Italy, but I think the first attempt was in South America."

"The plane crash?"

"Yeah, that was too much of a coincidence given the most recent tries on my life. You know my feeling about coincidences. I think Falcone's been planning this since Atlantic City." Even back then he was hitting on Steph. I didn't think the old pervert would stop at anything to have her. "An address would really help. I'm sure Falcone has his bodyguards on the lookout for me. I'll be laying low so I don't tip my hand too early and have Falcone run again."

"Well, that makes my next bit of news timely indeed. Don't be surprised if your archangel shows up. Superman said he was getting bored with civilian life."

I smiled. When I left for Italy, I'd insisted that Tank and the rest of the men stay out of this. RangeMan didn't need to get into a Mafia war. But I had to admit it would be good to have backup even if he was Air Force.

. . .

_Present day Greece, nearly six months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

It was the middle of the night when my phone rang. "Report!" I barked.

I could hear defeat in Tank's silence and he confirmed it a moment later. "I couldn't find any property holdings on Kefalonia for Stathopoulos. There are a couple of families by that name in northern Greece, but they don't seem to be related to the family in question."

_Damn!_ "What about the mother?" I queried. "The maternal side of Falcone's deceased wife?"

"I ran that search, too. Her mother's maiden name was Karras. Nothing came up."

"Go back further. There has to be something." If I started asking questions on the island, Falcone would know I was here. I needed the edge of surprise.

"Ranger, you're asking me to run a freakin' genealogy search."

"Build her fucking family tree if you have to, just find me an address," I ordered. I was beyond frustrated. All I could picture was Falcone leering at Stephanie, kissing her, touching her. I knew Tank was doing everything he could, but we couldn't give up. There was too much at stake.

It took another five hours, but Tank actually had a note of glee in his voice when he called back. "You owe me, man. You won't believe what I had to go through to get this."

"Dammit, Tank. Just tell me what you found."

"After all my hard work, I deserve to gloat a little. It's pretty easy to find recent information, but finding historical stuff is another thing entirely. You can't find something online unless someone has taken the time to enter it. The only reason I was able to find this is because of the popularity of do-it-yourself family genealogy research. Someone had to dig around in a lot of musty old records tracking down their ancestors and then enter it into one of the online genealogy websites. That's where I found it."

"Tank…"

"Don't get your panties in a twist."

"TANK!"

"I forgot. You don't wear panties… um… briefs."

I closed my eyes and mentally pictured assembling an AK-47.

Tank realized he was sorely trying my patience. "Okay, okay. I had to go back three generations and run property searches on all the various names, but I think I found what we're looking for."

In my mind, I loaded the rifle and put Tank in my sights.

"Jeez, a little thanks would be nice."

I pictured myself disengaging the safety. "I'll thank you when you give me something I can use," I said.

Tank sighed. "The name you're looking for is Laskaratos! It's Dante Falcone's great great grandfather on his mother's side. There's a villa and olive grove under that name on the island of Kefalonia. It's been there for generations. It's a remote connection, but in Greece, it's all about family. I think it's your best bet."

I relaxed and lowered my weapon. Tank finally came through with an address. I wouldn't have to shoot him when I got home.

I had the property staked out within an hour of my plane setting down on Kefalonia and knew it was the right one. I didn't see Steph or Falcone, but I did catch a glimpse of his mirror-image bodyguards. I couldn't believe Falcone kept them around after I had so easily disarmed them in Atlantic City. To some the men may look intimidating, but to me they looked like a sorry badass version of Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

After a quick reconnoiter of the area, I knew this wouldn't be an easy mission. The home was small compared to the Falcone estate in Lipari, but it was surrounded by a lot of acreage. Due to its remote location and rugged geographic setting, the house would be easily defensible. The entry road was gated and there was a tall stuccoed wall around the estate. The villa itself was hard to see, embedded within an extensive olive grove along the sea cliffs. Approaching from the steep cliffside would be challenging and with my poorly healed leg I knew I wasn't 100 percent. I assumed the land-side approaches would be heavily guarded, however, I only saw the two guards during my recce. Maybe Falcone was overconfident that no one would know he was here?

As I watched the only entrance, I saw a lot of traffic coming and going from the villa. The gate was open and manned by an elderly gentleman. Most of the traffic seemed to be local vendors from Argostoli: bakery, flower shop, grocery store, furniture rental and a landscaping business. As one of the delivery trucks left the estate, it was stopped by a flat tire – _what a fortuitous coincidence. _I helped the driver change the tire and after some casual conversation, he told me there was to be a wedding at the villa later that day… at sunset. The driver had delivered a decorated arch and helped set it up on the back lawn overlooking the sea.

_A wedding!_ I didn't have to think too hard to imagine who the bride and groom were. I remembered that dream I'd had about Stephanie in a white dress standing next to a dark-haired man. I'd come just in time.

There was no longer any need to maintain the stakeout and I had a lot to do. I drove into Argostoli.

_Stephanie's POV_

After lunch, I excused myself and went to my room. The entire downstairs was being decorated and the kitchen was filled with women cooking and baking. I would only be in the way and I couldn't bear to make chitchat for hours on end. Besides, I felt itchy… make that bitchy…as if something was crawling up my neck.

I looked out my bedroom window and saw a flurry of activity as men spruced up the yard outside. Chairs that had been draped and tied in white fabric were being lined up on the freshly mown green grass. The aisle between the chairs had a bright red runner leading to an arched altar that was also draped in white fabric. Two young women attached fresh flowers to the altar and then set more flower displays along the retaining wall that separated the yard from the cliff. At the end of each row of chairs were more flowers. The setting was absolutely stunning with the background of the azure sea visible over the low rock wall.

It was perfect! Too perfect. _Nothing in my life has ever been perfect… except for… Carlos, and what we shared._ My eyes started to burn. Closing my eyes I _thunked_ my forehead hard against the wall once… twice… three times. If I was going to cry, I wanted something physical to cry about. I was tired of tears, tired of being depressed, tired of living in limbo. I opened my eyes and rubbed my aching forehead. My little moment of masochism did the trick. My head seemed clearer or maybe the pain was allowing me to focus better. Either way, the scene outside was still the same. Yes, Matteo had outdone himself to create a perfect romantic setting for our wedding.

_Our wedding!_ The entire household is abuzz with activity preparing for my wedding, a wedding I have had no part in planning. No one has asked me what I want. Maybe because what I want is to _not_ be getting married. I just want all of this to go away. How did it get this far? Oh yeah, I agreed to it. I let this happen. I let my fear of pain – of grief – cloud my decisions. I've been living in denial. I'm still afraid of the pain, but now that it's really happening I don't know if I can go through with it.

There's only one man I want to marry, but he's the one man I can no longer have. _Oh Carlos!_ _If I could will myself to join you, I would._ But if I have to remain behind, I… I should do something worthwhile with my life. And I don't think being Mrs. Matteo Falcone is that something. Maybe… maybe I should just go home and devote myself to the veteran's center. At least there I have a purpose. My stomach clenched and I thought I was going to be sick.

_Omigod!_ Why did I ever think this would work? I can't marry Matteo. That would be a travesty to Carlos' memory. Where has my head been? Maybe that wall finally knocked some sense into me. How do I get out of this? _Oh crappity, crap, crap, crap!_

"Mia Bella, there you are. I have been looking all over for you."

At the sound of his voice I whirled around, my cheeks warming with the guilt of my unkind thoughts. Matteo came over and put his arms around me. I tried not to flinch, but I wasn't too successful.

He leaned back and looked at me. I couldn't meet his eyes. His chin lifted toward the scene below us. "You don't look too happy. Don't you like what we have done so far? We still have time to change the flowers if you would like something different."

_Flowers! If only it were that easy. He has been so nice to me. How can I tell him, and at the last minute, that I can't marry him?_ _But I have to._ I disengaged myself from his embrace and sat on the edge of my bed.

Looking up at his smiling face, I stammered, "Matteo, I…uh… you have been so good to me and so patient with my moodiness. I don't know how to say this… and I'm so sorry, but…um… I can't marry you." There, I said it.

Teo looked shocked and confused which only made me feel worse. He sat down beside me and reached for my hand. "Bella, I don't understand. We've been planning our wedding for weeks. What happened to change your mind?"

"I don't know. I can't explain it. But I can't marry you. It wouldn't be fair… to you. You deserve someone who will cherish you, who will be a good wife to you. I can't be that person." Matteo placed his finger on my lips, essentially hushing me.

"My dearest, I know you are still grieving. I know that this man you lost will always be a part of your heart. I accept that. I accept you, mia Bella, as you are. Give yourself time to heal. I know in time you will come to love me." He spread his arms wide and joked, "I'm a lovable man. And I'm a patient man. I can wait. And besides, I have enough love for both of us." He kissed my forehead and then stood. "Now, you fix your face and put on that pretty white dress and I'll come back up to get you in an hour."

He started to leave. I had to get him to understand. "But Teo…I can't-" I was wringing my hands and hating myself for being so weak.

Matteo turned back and stroked his thumb across my cheek. "It's okay, my love. You are just having last minute jitters. All brides have them. You are going to look so lovely in your wedding gown. All our guests will be entranced by your beauty."

"Guests? But I don't know anyone here. Who could possibly be at the wedding? I don't want to have a bunch of strangers gawking at me. Teo… this isn't right. We… I… I can't do this..."

"Please, please, mia Bella, put any fears you have out of your mind. We agreed to have a small wedding. Dante will stand up for me and Honna will stand for you. As for the guests, there will only be people you have met here in Kefalonia. No strangers, no gawking." His phone rang; he glanced at it and told me, "Dante's plane just landed. I need to go. Don't worry about a thing. It'll all work out. Trust me." He gave me a quick kiss and then left the room.

Great. That went well. And now with Dante here, he'll be too busy for me to get him alone. As for jitters, I didn't think it was that. I knew I'd been wallowing in self-pity, thinking only of myself, of what I've lost. I hadn't been thinking of how my actions would affect others. I shut out my family and friends and I used Teo's affection for me to escape my pain and fears. I've been so selfish.

And even now, Teo is making excuses for me. I know he loves me, but it's one-sided. I'll never love him back. I've got to put a stop to this. _Now!_

I stood up and hurried over to the door, but Honna was pushing her way in. She bustled into the room carrying her silver tray. "Just a spot of tea to soothe your nerves. Signor Falcone made this especially for you and asked me to bring it up. He has been so busy preparing for your wedding. Everything must be perfect, including you, my dear."

"I was just going downstairs to talk to him…"

Honna gently pushed me back and gestured for me to sit at the little table by the French doors. "This will take just a minute and you will feel so much better. It's chamomile tea… very soothing. Sit down, my dear, and take a few sips."

In the few short weeks since I'd known Honna, I'd learned to do as she said. Honna always knew best. Just ask her.

I sipped the tea and she was right. I felt better. With a smug smile, she patted my shoulder and went back downstairs. She was preparing most of the food for the celebration dinner tonight and she was very busy.

I finished the tea and got up. Dizziness overcame me and I had to reach out and steady myself against the wall. The vertigo passed and I started for the door, but couldn't remember where I was going. There was a fog swirling in my head, and rubbing my forehead and temples didn't help.

I still couldn't remember what I was going to do so I sat back on my bed. A sudden wave of tiredness overcame me and I lay down, intending only to catch a quick forty winks. _But there was something I had to do…_


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER 14**

_Present day Greece, six months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

_Stephanie's POV_

_Why hadn't I ever noticed that before?_ There was one long crack in the ceiling that ran diagonally across the room from the left corner to the right. I'd been staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours and just noticed it. The longer I stared the closer the crack got. I wanted to run my fingers along it. I tried to lift my hand up, but my arm felt like it weighed a ton. I couldn't even move my fingers.

My deep reverie over ceiling cracks was interrupted by voices out in the hall. Both voices were male; I think one was Teo's, but the words I heard sounded like they came through a long echoing tunnel. It was hard to concentrate.

"I wish you would have let me bring more men, Papa. What if…"

"No. It would arouse too many questions. This is Greece, not Sicily. There's no way that _maldetto Cubano_ will find us here. We have no ties to the island and we haven't used this villa in years. And Dante, keep your men away from the ceremony tonight; have them watch the front. Dino and Tino will stay with me."

"I don't like this. He's one smart _bastardo_. He's no longer on Lipari, and we don't know where he is."

"I don't give a damn about him as long as he stays away from here. I just want him gone. He's like a cat with nine lives."

"I'll get him, Papa, I promise. And here, I got the stuff you asked for."

"Good. Just make sure you give her only enough to keep her docile for a few hours. No more. I want her fully awake later tonight. It's our wedding night, after all. "

"I don't want to hear anything about your wedding night. As for this stuff, it's a tricky thing. Too much and she won't be able to stand up, too little and she will be too aware of what's going on."

"She's been spacey since we arrived so the guests won't notice much of a difference. But you'd better get the dosage right. Tonight has to go off without a hitch. I can't take the chance of postponing the wedding. It's only a matter of time before she hears he isn't dead. Of course, by then maybe he truly will be." There was laughter and then silence.

The words didn't make any sense to me. My head was swimming and I couldn't keep my eyes open. I heard a door creak and a minute later I felt a prick in my arm. And then nothing…

. . .

Jeez, I feel awful, like a cross between being shitfaced and having a terrible head cold. I can't stop scratching my damn itchy neck. And what the heck…I don't even remember walking out to the yard, but here I am.

_What are all these chairs doing out here?_ _And who are all these people?_ _Oh, look at the ocean._ _It's so serene this time of the day; like a sparkling sapphire. And the sky… it's beautiful. So many pretty colors. _

_Why am I in a long white dress?_ _Oooh, it's satiny and soft._ _And what are all these flowers doing here? They're everywhere. Silly me, it's a garden. Where else would flowers be?_ I started giggling.

"I'm glad to see you are in a good mood, mia Bella. You look wonderful. Thank you for wearing your hair down. I brought this for you to wear." Teo suddenly appeared next to me looking quite dashing in his black tux. He held up a circlet of white flowers in his hand and placed it on my head, smiling as he did so.

Now I had my own flower garden growing out of my head. I giggled again and the people milling around the yard smiled at me, like indulgent parents at their silly child. And I felt like a silly child – a dizzy, giggly child. I leaned into Teo, grateful for the support. Standing up straight was proving to be difficult.

Also, my tongue felt thick and heavy and the words came out slurred. "I feel… funny. Maybe I… I… lie down… make… fool… myself… people." I dropped my head, which weighed a million pounds, onto Teo's shoulder.

"Don't worry. I've got you, Bella. And the people here are all your friends." He walked me over to Honna who was talking to another middle-aged woman: Phedra, I think. They both wore pretty floral dresses so unlike the drab black skirts they usually wore. Teo laid his hand on Honna's shoulder and said, "Thank you, Honna, for all you have done today and for standing up for Stephanie tonight. We both appreciate all your hard work. And Phedra, thank you for coming to share this special day with us. Your wonderful honey will be the star in tonight's baklava and Stephanie's special honey cakes. I want you to enjoy yourselves tonight; you're both off the clock."

Both women smiled at us and I smiled back, but I couldn't get out any coherent words. Teo led me past Dino and Tino, who were also dressed in black tuxes. He gave them a nod of acknowledgement, but didn't stop to talk. The twins looked somber and deadpan as always.

We approached a couple that looked to be about Matteo's age. Teo welcomed them and then turned to me. "Stephanie, you remember Dekel and Iona? We sailed over to visit them last week at their home in Lixouri. They came over to share this special day with us." I could barely hold my head up, but I tried to smile politely. I didn't remember them.

We moved on to the next couple and Teo shook hands with the man and kissed the woman on her cheek. "Welcome to our home, Thanos and Melia. Stephanie was just saying how much she loved having dinner at your restaurant. We can't wait to return and try your _kreatopita_. Stephanie loves pie and your meat pies are famous."

I giggled when Teo said pie. He pronounced it funny, drawing it out into a couple of syllables. There was more talk of food which was really making me hungry, but I couldn't seem to follow the conversation so I just stood there and grinned like a drunken looney, trying not to sway too much. Several other people joined the conversation. I shook their hands, but could barely mumble a greeting; my mouth just didn't want to work.

Teo walked me away from the group and said, "You wanted just a few friends to join us tonight, and your wish is my command." He pulled me close and kissed the side of my neck. It tickled and I tried to pull away, but I couldn't make my feet obey. Matteo whispered in my ear, "And after tonight, I will make all your wishes come true. I hope your first wish is to have me make beautiful love to you, to make you come over and over again. Would you like that, mia Bella?"

His hands were around my waist and he held me so close I could feel his erection. Again, I tried to pull away. My head was spinning and I couldn't concentrate, but he'd asked me a question, I think. "I… I don't know. I'm a little dizzy. And…" I reached up and scratched the back of my neck. "My neck itches." I clutched his arm before I toppled over. "Don't let go of me."

"I'll _never_ let you go, _mia_ Bella," Teo whispered, as he nuzzled my ear. Something in his tone bothered me, but my head was too fuzzy to think much about it. We were obviously at a party and I must have drunk too much. I decided the best thing to do was to stay out of the way and keep my mouth shut.

Then music started playing. It seemed to come from somewhere behind us, but my eyes wouldn't focus. Everyone took a seat and I tried to follow them, not wanting to attract any undue attention, but Teo blew my plan all to hell. He pulled my arm through his and led me down the aisle between the chairs… in time with the music. Honna followed right behind us. Everybody was staring.

We stopped before this beautiful arch covered in flowers and standing there, next to Dante, was a stern-looking man dressed in a long gold robe. The sunset was at its most magnificent and I couldn't stop staring at the brilliant display of colors painted across the sky. I started to sway a bit and Teo pulled me closer. And then it was like a veil had dropped over my face and things got dark and distant. A loud droning masculine voice filled the air as I sunk against Matteo. I closed my eyes and let the head fog take over.

I don't know how much time had passed, but I jumped when the music started up again. It was a familiar melody and triggered something within me. If I could only shake this fog out of my head and remember. I scratched my neck and tried to listen. And then a man's voice began singing. It was clear and deep and had a rich resonant quality to it. I knew that voice…

Cómo fue

No sé decirte cómo fue

No sé explicarme qué pasó

Pero de ti me enamoré

_[As it were_

_I cannot tell you how it was_

_I cannot explain what happened_

_But I fell in love with you]_

Matteo jerked when he heard the singer's voice and he began muttering under his breath. He spun around, knocking me off balance. I fell against the man in robes.

Through my fog and blurry vision, I could just make out the band off to the side of the chairs. They were on a raised dais and there were several older men in tuxes playing musical instruments. The singer, also dressed in a black tux, was standing in front of the band. There was something so familiar about the singer. I couldn't stop staring. All I could make out was that he was broad-shouldered and dark-skinned… and his long dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. And he had a beautiful voice.

Matteo looked irate and he gestured angrily to Dino, or was it Tino? Both Matteo and Dante started to stride back down the aisle, leaving me entangled in the robed man's arms. I kept struggling to stand and the man kept yanking me off balance or at least that's what it felt like. It could just be that I was too drunk to stand up.

The singer's voice got louder and I felt like I was crawling out of a deep dark hole. I wanted to laugh and I didn't know why. I wanted to throw my hands up and shout for joy. The song touched something inside me, or maybe it was the singer. This wasn't a teeny-bopper concert, but I felt like screaming and crying and throwing myself into the singer's arms.

Pushing away from the man in robes – _why was he wearing a robe?_ – I stumbled down the aisle after Teo, shrugging Honna's grasping hands off me. The closer I got, the clearer the images got. The singer… he looked like…_no, that's impossible!_

He kept singing, even as Dino and Tino stomped toward him. And Matteo… he looked so angry. People were turning in their seats and craning their necks to see what was happening behind them. I made it to the last row of chairs without falling. The last few rows were empty and there was an expanse of grass up to the stage where the band was situated.

As the singer crooned out the last of the lyrics, the fog in my head thinned and I saw things clearly for the first time… in months. And I couldn't believe what I saw. Even though I was clinging to the back of a chair, I staggered.

"Carlos," I whispered. "Carlos… Carlos… Carlos…" I kept repeating his name, a little louder each time until I screamed, _**"Carlos!"**_


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER 15**

_Present day Greece, six months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

_Stephanie's POV_

My scream of "_Carlos!_" had barely left my lips when Matteo swung around and blocked my way. He stared at me, his eyes dark and menacing, his jaw clenched as he spat out, "He'll _never_ have you. _You're mine, mia Bella_."

The transformation in him was shocking. I'd never seen him so angry, but then I hadn't been the most observant person of late. I swear he looked like he wanted to kill me.

But right now my attention was focused on the amazing vision standing several yards behind Matteo. It had to be a vision. My mind was playing tricks on me. The singer looked like Carlos; I wanted so much for him to BE Carlos. But Carlos was dead, wasn't he? _Wasn't he?_

I didn't have a lot of time to think as things unraveled quickly. Matteo's bodyguards rushed toward the stage, their eyes focused on… it had to be Ranger. Please, let it be Ranger!

Just before Dino and Tino reached the stage, the tall dark man's eyes met mine… and he smiled. Electricity shot through me and I knew. It was my Carlos, my badass Ranger, alive and well and standing just a few yards away. And he was about to be attacked by Matteo's hulking brutes. My heart leapt into my throat.

And Ranger leapt into action. He picked up the large bass drum in the set and in one fluid movement he bowled over Dino, knocking the big man backward on his fat keister. Tino rushed forward and Ranger grabbed the large keyboard and smashed it over Tino's head. I wanted to cheer, but by then, Dante had reached the stage and was pointing a gun at Ranger.

Even through my fuzzy head, fear gripped me. After so many months believing he was dead, Ranger had appeared in front of me as if by magic. And now, Dante was pointing a gun at him and Matteo was yelling at him to shoot. _How dare they?_ I wasn't about to lose the love of my life again. My fear was quickly replaced by rage.

Launching myself from the chair I'd been leaning on, I jumped on Teo's back and we crashed into Dante. A shot rang out and Matteo swung around with me clinging to his back, and trying to scratch his eyes out. I caught a glimpse of Dante struggling with Ranger as a muffled second shot sounded.

Gasps and screams came from the people sitting in the chairs, and maybe a scream or two came from my own mouth as I tried to hang on. Teo grabbed my hands and tried to pull me off, but the long dress I was wearing had split up the sides allowing me to grip him tightly with my legs. I could feel adrenaline pumping through me and it cleared out the fog in my head. I slammed my open hands against Teo's ears as hard as I could and followed that with a solid chop to his throat, just like Lester had taught me in his self-defense class. Choking, Matteo fell to his knees and I rolled off, bumping into Dante who was laying in the grass, eyes staring at me. It took me a moment to realize his eyes weren't moving; they weren't blinking.

_Omigod!_ Dead eyes! Revulsion shot through me as I scrambled backward. I kept scooting back until I hit a pair of legs and looked up. I had just enough time to see Ranger's wonderful 200-watt smile before he scooped me up in his strong, comforting arms and I heard him utter one word… "Babe."

For the first time in months I felt alive. And Carlos… he felt real… and alive, too! "It's you! It's really you! You're alive! Carlos!" I threw my arms around his neck and breathed in his wonderful scent. But my relief and happiness were short-lived.

A roar of rage came from Matteo; he stood over his unmoving son and then his eyes shot toward us, taking in Ranger holding me in his arms. I swear I could see flames shooting from him and I thought he was going to self-combust. As he stormed toward us, Ranger's grip on me tightened. Then to my horror, Matteo pulled out a gun and raised it at us. People began screaming again, but before I could even blink Ranger swung his body to the side and his foot lashed out, knocking the gun from Matteo's hand. The gun flew into the thick hedge growing against the house and Ranger staggered to the left as if his legs couldn't hold both of us.

I was about to tell him to put me down, but the look on his face was one I'd never seen on him before. Indecision! His eyes cut to Matteo and I could see the rage boiling within him, but then he looked down at me and I could see worry in his face. He was afraid for me!

I began, "Don't worry about me…" but that's when Matteo charged at us. Ranger's face immediately set into a grim line and he tightened his grip on me. He feigned to the right and then dodged around an irate Matteo. The older man wasn't quite as agile and as he lunged for Ranger, he stumbled over Dino who was struggling to get up. The two men became tangled in each other and Ranger ran toward the cliff, holding me securely in his arms.

But he was limping and he felt so thin and gaunt. _What had he gone through the past few months? Where had he been? _There wasn't time to ask; we still weren't out of the woods. There was chaos behind us as people continued to scream and run for the house.

As we neared the cliff a deafening noise filled the evening air, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. And then, just like in a Bruce Willis _Die Hard_ movie, a helicopter rose up over the low wall. The side door of the chopper was wide open and there, standing in the middle, arms up and holding on to the top of the door, was Michael. He had a big grin on his face and he was so close I could almost touch him. Then a wild thing happened: without hesitation, Ranger tossed me into the air and I soared over the wall.

I didn't have time to have a heart attack. One minute I was safely tucked in Ranger's arms and the next minute I was flying through the air looking down at the steep cliffs below me. Thankfully, I was caught by Michael. The helicopter continued to hover in place and Michael set me on my feet, holding me tight against him. I was too stunned to say or do much of anything except cling to my old friend.

The noise from the helicopter was so loud it was hard to hear anything, so Michael lowered his head and shouted, "Glad you could drop in, Sugar. Hope you don't mind us crashing your wedding?"

I finally found my voice. "Fuck the wedding… I've never been so happy to see anybody in all my life." I clung to him as if my life depended on it – I guess it did – but my focus was now on Ranger. I twisted my body around to see Ranger make the jump himself.

But of course, it couldn't be that easy. Ranger didn't climb up on the wall as I hoped, instead he turned and faced the oncoming force of Matteo and one of his bodyguards. I screamed, but I couldn't be heard over the whop-whop of the helicopter blades. I had to watch in horror as they ganged up on Ranger. And then the other of Matteo's goons, I think it was Tino, joined the fight. It was three to one and it was obvious that Ranger was not at his strongest.

My heart was beating a mile a minute and I cut my eyes to Michael in desperation. He pushed me to the side and yelled something to the pilot. Then he grabbed a knotted rope and attached it to the chopper's ceiling ring with a carabiner and, with a kiss flung back at me, he swung out into nothingness.

Holding on to the open door, with my head hanging out, I watched in terror as Michael dropped onto the wall and leapt into the fray. The sun had set and there wasn't much light left. From my vantage point, all I could see were several men's bodies in tight clenches, giving and taking body blows. All the men except Michael were dressed in black tuxes and they were all bunched up, throwing punches and even kicks. It was a fierce and confusing fight and I couldn't tell who was winning. The fighting seemed to go on forever, though I knew it was just a short while. Finally, I saw one man go down and then another, but I couldn't tell who was down and out.

Suddenly, flashes of gunfire came from the side yard. Several men were running toward the fight, guns out and blazing. I pointed and yelled, but no one could hear me.

I was so relieved when Michael broke away from the melee and leapt back up on the wall. He gestured to the helicopter pilot and motioned me to step away from the door. I slipped my body back against the door, but I couldn't stop watching the scene before me.

Two dark-haired men were still fighting, clenched together and dancing a grotesque waltz. Michael yelled something and pulled out a gun from the back of his waist, firing at the oncoming shooters, making them take cover. _Dammit, if he had a gun why hadn't he used it sooner? _Suddenly, one of the two men still fighting drew back his arm and drove it into the other's jaw so hard the recipient of the blow staggered backward, his arms pinwheeling. He crashed into the men with the guns. The one still standing turned around and sprinted to the wall. My heart beat double-time. It was Ranger!

The helicopter moved so close we almost touched the wall and then Michael jumped. As soon as his left foot hit the chopper floor, I reached out and pulled him to me. We both turned and held out our hands to Ranger.

Ranger leapt up on the wall and jumped toward the helicopter just as Matteo dove toward him, grabbing him around his waist. The extra weight immediately dragged Ranger down out of view.

I screamed, horrified. I couldn't see what was happening, but my mind showed me Ranger plummeting to his death on the rocks below the cliff, Matteo still clinging to him. I backed away from the door until my butt hit the back wall of the helicopter. I was hyperventilating; I was numb. The men with guns were at the wall now and were gesturing to something just below us.

Paralyzed, I watched Michael drop to his belly and lean out the door, looking down. He yelled to the pilot and we started lifting and pulling away from the wall. Screaming, I ran to Michael, begging him to do something.

He looked up at me with his toothy grin as he pulled hard on a rope. Bullets began pinging off the metal of the helicopter. I ducked behind the door, staring at the rope he was hauling up. The next thing I saw was Ranger's head. My heart was beating a million miles a minute, relieved that Ranger was still alive, but fearful he would be shot. Michael dragged him the rest of the way into the chopper and the pilot took off, heading up the coast. Ranger pulled himself to his feet and immediately drew me into his arms and away from the opening, as Michael slammed the door shut.

The world dropped away; I could no longer hear the noise of the helicopter or smell the fumes of gasoline. All I could feel were Ranger's arms holding me. I placed my hands on his chest and slid them down across his torso, tracing the outline of his abs and, heartbreakingly, his ribs. Even through the starched white shirt he was wearing, I could feel how thin he was. I laid my head against him and inhaled his distinctive scent, feeling the warmth of his skin next to mine. Closing my eyes, I rejoiced in the steady thump of his heartbeat against my cheek.

"Babe?"

Just the sound of his voice thrilled me and I lifted my head to look into the most gorgeous brown eyes ever, framed by lush black eyelashes. His face, while still so handsome, was gaunt, his cheeks sunk in. Wherever he'd been, whatever had happened to him, he'd suffered terribly. My heart broke a little. But he was here now and he'd just risked life and limb to save me from a fate worse than death. He was my hero… again. Always and forever.

"Carlos, I love you… so much."

"Y te amo, Querida." [_And I love you, my beloved_.] He leaned back and tilted his head a little to the right, and looked down at me. With a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, he asked, "Just for the sake of clarity… after all, you did just run away from one wedding… do you still want to marry me?" he asked.

_As if_… "Hell, yes!" I cried. I was rewarded with the biggest of grins… and the softest of kisses, and then another kiss, and another… each one getting a little stronger and lasting a little longer.

And then another pair of arms and a strong masculine chest crushed me closer into Ranger. I found myself in a heavenly badass sandwich: one side dark, one side light, both very dear to me. I couldn't believe this was really happening. Laughter bubbled up my throat and burst out my mouth, surprising my two rescuers. All three of us dropped to the floor of the chopper, hugging, laughing and crying – well, I was the only one crying.

A crazy thought flashed through my mind as we sat huddled in a warm embrace: Superman, Batman and Wonder Woman, together again, victorious…flying to freedom.

_AN: One more chapter to come, to wrap things up properly._


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER 16**

_Present day Greece, six months after Ranger's plane crashed:_

_Ranger's POV_

The steady sound of the helo was lulling, but the soft, supple body of the woman I held so tightly in my arms kept me focused. I couldn't believe I was with my Babe again.

Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't quite asleep yet. I stroked her cheek with the back of my fingers and got a drawn out, "_Mmmmmmm_" from her. I'd waited so long for this, to hold her in my arms again; I could wait a little longer to tell her, to show her how much I loved her. She was thin and looked exhausted, but she was smiling and the way she had her arms wrapped around me left me no doubt she was glad to be rescued from the clutches of Matteo Falcone.

When Falcone and I were fighting, he uttered some chilling words to me. He told me that I was a hard man to kill; that he hadn't spent months planning the Flores kidnapping and subsequent crash of my plane only to have me survive it. And he was furious I'd escaped his attempts to kill me in Italy. He vowed to kill me right then and there in front of Stephanie, so she would see which one of us was the most powerful – the better man. I was more than happy to oblige his last statement.

As for that bastard, he would trouble us no more. The Ionian Sea would claim his battered body, although I almost joined him. When he latched onto me, I thought I was a goner. I managed to grab the rope that dangled from the helicopter, but the weight of Falcone and the grip he had on my legs sent a searing pain through my injured left leg. I nearly let go. The only thing that enabled me to hang on was the thought of finally being reunited with Stephanie.

I hadn't survived a plane crash, a broken leg, four months on an inhospitable deserted island, flying halfway around the world and escaping several attempts on my life to let a little pain take it all away. I just needed to shuck some dead Italian weight.

Ignoring the pain, I kicked back and up with my right leg, and my heel connected with a soft part of Falcone's anatomy. It was a move inspired by Stephanie. I heard a low grunt and then my legs were free. Matteo Falcone plummeted like a rock to the jagged escarpment and the ocean below. Then Michael pulled me up to safety and to the waiting arms of my Babe.

And now, we were on our way home, albeit a circuitous route. We'd fly through the night, stopping midway at Sparta where we'd refuel. The stopover would give us all a chance to use a restroom and freshen up. And grab something to eat. If I knew Steph, she'd be starving soon. And she'd missed her wedding cake. Steph loved her cake. After refueling in Sparta, we'd fly on to Crete.

Steph moved a little and opened her eyes. My heart beat a little faster as I gazed into the bluest eyes ever and then she smiled. A warmth swept through me and I hardened just at the sight of her sweet face. But then her expression wavered and a momentary flicker of fear shone in her eyes. She started to scramble.

Stroking her back, I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "_Shhhhh_, Babe. You're safe. I'm here."

She clutched me tightly and swiveled her head, taking in the interior of the helicopter. Michael smiled at her from across the cabin and she relaxed. Then her attention turned back to me. She stroked my face and my hair, running her hands all over me just to reassure herself that I was there, alive and in one piece. With her eyes glued to mine, she asked softly, "Matteo?"

I gave a slight headshake and her eyes closed. Then they flashed open and, in a stronger voice, she spat out, "And _Dante_." It wasn't a question; it was a statement and it spoke volumes.

"It's over. Neither one will ever bother you again."

A shudder ran through her body and she spoke, "I'm so sorry, Carlos. I never meant for any of this to happen. I… I was weak. I believed you were dead. I wanted to die, too…"

"NO! Don't _ever_ say that. Don't ever even think it. You always stay strong and move on, _no matter what_. Promise me." I held her by her shoulders, wanting to see my old Steph, the fighter. She looked tired, and a little fragile. She searched my face and I saw the tiniest of smiles begin, first in her eyes and then her lips. Her head slowly moved up and then down.

"I promise," she whispered. Reaching up, her hands cradled my face and she asked, "And you…what happened? How did you…?"

How did I survive? How did I find her? Neither mattered now. We would have time to talk about everything later… after we both had some sleep and proper food. We were both in pretty sorry shape. She didn't need to know how close I'd come to death or how many times Falcone had tried to kill me. I didn't know if she knew that Falcone was behind the Flores kidnapping and my plane crash and I didn't want that knowledge to send her into an emotional tailspin.

"We'll have time to talk about all that a little later. Let's just enjoy this moment; enjoy being together again."

We stared into each other's eyes for the longest time and it was if we could see into the other's soul. We'd both been lost, in our own way, but we'd found our way back to each other.

The tremor was shallow at first and then Steph started to shiver violently. I could see so many emotions flitting across her expressive face and my heart nearly broke when tears filled Steph's blue eyes and she sagged against me, sobs racking her thin body. Between the adrenaline dump and the reality of everything that had happened the last 5-6 months, the stress of it all was finally getting to her. It was a lot to process: my "death," her depression and grief, her trusting Falcone and almost marrying the bastard. And then my "resurrection" and the dramatic rescue.

I held her close, letting her cry, letting her get it all out. I was so proud of her, attacking Falcone to protect me. That was the Steph I knew and loved. So unpredictable and so strong, even in the face of imminent danger. She continued to cry and I stroked her back, whispering soft endearments in her ear and letting her know I was there for her, always and forever. I wrapped my arms tighter around her, wanting – wishing I could take her pain into me.

After a while, she quieted down and with a ragged breath Steph gazed up at me. I wiped the wetness from her cheeks and leaned down to kiss her full lips. She was still trembling a little so I contented myself with holding her.

There were still a few stray flowers tangled in her curls from the wreath she'd been wearing. I plucked one and held it out to her. At first she frowned and then she rubbed her hands through her hair, shaking them furiously. She was getting agitated so I held her hands. "Let me get them, Babe."

"Just get them out," she cried. "I don't want anything left of _him_. And… would you cut off the bottom of this horrid dress?" She held up the torn stained gown as if it disgusted her to even touch it.

She looked quite fetching in white. But there was only one white dress I wanted to see her in and that was the wedding dress I planned to pick out for her – as soon as we got home.

I'll admit, the moment she walked out into the backyard, I almost blew it. I was helping the band set up their instruments and I knew immediately when she came out of the villa. She looked so damned beautiful in that wedding gown, I ached to take her in my arms and kiss her senseless. We'd been apart for so many months, I longed to simply hold her. But I could also see she wasn't herself. There was a glazed look to her eyes and she was unsteady, swaying and leaning on things; leaning on Falcone. I knew she was under the influence of some mind-altering substance. What I wasn't sure of was if it was self-administered or if Falcone was keeping her drugged?

And then Falcone took her by the arm and the moment was gone. I kept my face turned away from the people mingling and socializing. I didn't want to blow my cover too early.

In addition to Matteo and Dante, there were two other armed men in the backyard, mingling among all the other guests. There were three more armed men out front, guarding the gate. They'd searched us and our band equipment thoroughly before they let us enter. My band mates were probably wondering what they had gotten themselves into when they agreed to let me replace their singer, but I'd paid them well for the honor. I'd felt naked without a gun or even a knife, but I wasn't going to let anything keep me from getting close to Stephanie and executing my rescue plan.

All in all, I was confident, as long I had the element of surprise, that I could handle the Falcones and the two overweight bodyguards. The three men out front looked a bit more capable, but if all went as planned, Steph and I would be long gone before they could make it to the backyard.

The rescue hadn't gone quite the way I'd planned it, but I wasn't disappointed in the outcome. We made our getaway, and any further threat from the Falcones was nullified, although Greece was now off any future travel plans. Even though it was an obvious case of self-defense, I didn't think I'd be welcomed back anytime soon after the incident on the Laskaratos estate, especially since I hadn't stayed around to talk to the police. If there was any serious fallout, I trusted the RangeMan lawyers could handle it.

Steph was obviously recovering nicely from her crying jag. Her hands burrowed their way under my cummerbund and then slid along my waist and up my chest, grazing my nipples. God, what her touch could do to me! I cupped her chin and kissed that naughty little smile right off her upturned lips. She gave as good as she got and neither one of us was willing to back down. I wasn't as tired as I thought I was.

Michael blew out a bunch of air and muttered what sounded like, "_Get a room,_" as he got to his feet and joined the pilot in the cockpit, but he was grinning all the way.

I resumed my battle of the lips with Stephanie. I didn't care who won this fight. In fact, I was willing to concede defeat as long as Steph continued to have her wicked way with me.

. . .

Our immediate destination was Souda Bay in Crete. The U.S. operated a Naval Support facility there as part of the larger NATO facility. Michael had pulled some strings – considerable strings – and probably violated a half dozen international treaties to get the use of the helicopter and its pilot. We just had to return both of them to the base by 0600 the next morning. Mission accomplished.

Steph and I hadn't talked too much on the helicopter. With the noise levels, they aren't conducive to long conversations. Instead, we were both content just to be in each other's arms, soaking up the other's essence. Michael had thoughtfully joined the pilot in the cockpit, leaving us alone to get reacquainted. The pilot was an old friend of Michael's and was more than happy to go out on a rescue mission if Michael could secure the use of the military helo. I don't what he did or how he did it, but he came through for both Steph and me.

Before we parted ways in Crete, I took Michael aside. I had no words to express my gratitude. We stood awkwardly facing each other. When Steph had been between us, it had been easy to accept physical contact. But now we both had our hands in our pockets and we said nothing. We just looked each other in the eye and let that speak what we couldn't utter.

_Thank you for saving my life._

_You'd do the same for me._

_I can never repay you for giving me Stephanie not once, but twice._

_No payment necessary, ever._

Michael held out his hand and then clenched it and we bumped fists and got halfway through a knuckle-knock, slap-hands, elbow-bumping handshake before it fell apart. These Air Force flyboys never could get it right.

"Thanks," I finally managed.

"Not necessary. I had a blast. Maybe we can make this into an annual event?" Michael grinned.

Returning his grin and laughing, I replied, "Don't even joke about that. I'm looking forward to a long, quiet, event-free life with Stephanie. And our kids."

Michael cocked his head. "Something I should know?"

"Nothing right now, but give me a month or two."

"Fast worker, huh?"

"That's right. I'm not taking any chances. I plan to marry Steph as soon as we return to the States." I tilted my head back and asked, "Think you can handle being my best man?"

Michael ducked his head and came up beaming. We shook hands, a simple handshake this time. "And, just so you know, our first-born will be named after you," I informed him.

An even broader smile creased Michael's face. "I like Micaela for a girl. But she's gonna be a handful."

"A girl? You think our first child will be a girl?"

"I know it. I had a dream on the flight over here. I was there for her birth and for every birthday thereafter. She's gonna be a beautiful girl and she's gonna make your hair go grey by the time you're forty. So enjoy the next year of peace and relaxation 'cause you won't have any of that after she comes into your life."

"I haven't had any peace and relaxation since Stephanie came into my life. Why would her daughter be any different?" The thought of a little girl who looked a little like Steph and a little like me had me grinning to beat the band.

I thought about what Michael said and remembered some odd dreams I'd had lately on planes. There are things in life that simply cannot be explained. This would be one of them.

Michael was flying home on a military plane, so he left Steph and I at the airport.

As beautiful as Greece was, both of us just wanted to get back home to New Jersey as soon as possible. We caught the next commercial flight out, first class, of course. We had a lot of catching up to do and we would talk about what happened, but we would do that only once and then put it behind us. We had a wonderful life ahead of us and I planned to make every day – and night – count.

**_Epilogue – One year later in Trenton, New Jersey:_**

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my waist. After combing my hair, I secured it into a low ponytail. I brushed my teeth and shaved and then stepped into the bedroom. She was still asleep, oblivious to the sunlight streaming across the bed.

The sheets were tangled up with her legs and her nude body was spread out as if for my viewing pleasure. And it was a pleasure. Just as last night's love-making had been a pleasure. Her mouth was slightly open and she was snoring softly. I loved the way her riot of brown curls fanned out across the pillow. As I watched her, I felt a swelling in my heart that was almost painful. She mumbled a little and moved her arm across the spot I'd recently vacated.

Moving swiftly to the bed, I lay down next to her, my own need rising just as swiftly. I picked up her arm and kissed my way to her fingers and the platinum band on her ring finger. She stirred at my touch and opened her eyes. The blueness of them took my breath away. Smiling, she reached up and caressed my cheek with her hand. I leaned in and kissed her lips, feeling her strong response as she pressed her body into mine.

The fullness still felt strange. Her stomach was huge and I loved running my hands across it, hoping to feel the precious life within.

Suddenly, I felt a kick against my hand and my eyes widened, a smile lighting up my face.

"Babe."

"_Ow_, Carlos, that was a strong one. A _really_ strong one."

I placed both my hands on the sides of her enormous belly and with a kiss to her tummy, I started murmuring in Spanish. Steph had put a lot of effort into learning Spanish and could now understand most of what I was saying.

"Hush, mija. Are you trying to kick your way out? Soon, la niña dulce, soon, but for now, please soften your kicks a little. I know you want out, you're more than two weeks overdue, and I'm so eager to hold you in my arms, but rest easy."

Steph let out a low groan and this time I felt the kick against my lips. "I think it's time to take you and Mommy to the hospital so we can begin our lives as a family. Te quiero, Micaela, mija." [_I love you, Micaela, my daughter._]

Steph groaned again and narrowed her eyes at me, "I think that last…" she mouthed the next word, as if the baby could hear her… "_{fuck}_ did the trick. My contractions are really strong."

I looked into her beautiful blue eyes and crooned, "Mi Estefania, te amo, siempre y para siempre." [_My Stephanie, I love you, always and forever._]

Her reply was a terse, "Yo tambien, but you'd better get cracking and get me to the hospital now, unless you plan to deliver Micaela yourself. And, by the way, _that is not an option_."

Smiling, I handed her a long nightgown and helped her sit at the side of the bed while she struggled into the gown. After putting her slippers on her swollen feet and wrapping her robe around her, I carefully lifted her up in my arms and headed for the door.

As we passed through the living room, Steph grabbed her bulging overnite bag from the cushion of our new black leather massage recliner. The room still smelled of sage from Sunny's smudging ceremony.

I took one last look around our apartment. The next time I walked through its doors, I would be bringing my family home. What a difference a year makes.

**Now lean back in your own recliner and take a nice long nap. **

_**Sweet dreams!**_


End file.
